Doctor Strange, Doctor Palmer and the Cloak of Levitation
by TapTapAlways
Summary: Doctor Strange settles into the New York Sanctum, accompanied by the boa constrictor which is his new cloak. Aside from saving the Earth, Stephen finds himself with a lot of unfinished affairs with Christine, as well as a desire to settle them and make it right. A slowburn Baby Strange story with a twist.
1. Prologue: A New Home

Doctor Strange may have changed careers rather dramatically, but it was not for nothing that he had become one of the world's leading neurosurgeons, nor, for that matter, one of its leading sorcerers. It meant, of course, that he was far from stupid. He might have been more than a little arrogant once, but he was always brilliant.

This meant that it took him even less time than for the average person to figure out that something was not quite so "standard" about his new Cloak. Really, the fact that it had helped him find tools and had also strangled someone for him during their first fight together, had been quite enough of a clue, even for most other people.

He had not realised until he had scrubbed off after the Ancient One's surgery though, just how... _sensitive_ the Cloak could be. Any remaining arrogance withstanding, it was with far more startlement than actual annoyance that he had stopped it from drying his tears, and it had continued to act in a similar way in the days following the battle of the Hong Kong Sanctum.

The first few days after Hong Kong had been almost frantically busy, but eventually a pattern had formed. He had started to get comfortable in the Sanctum, settling in with books in the evenings, like he had used to do up in the mountains during his training, in his small chamber there.

It was quite different in the aspect, of course, that here he had a multitude of rooms to chose from for his reading, but he quickly settled on a favourite. There was a large study, close to where the room which he had claimed as his bedroom was located, with an open fireplace and plenty of books nearby, as a bonus, and that was his first choice.

The first night he actually had time to sit down and read another tome, one he had somewhat unusually legitimately borrowed from Wong, for a change, he had hung the cloak up in his bedroom and settled in with a blazing fire to read for a while.

He tensed up as he heard a noise, not ten minutes into his reading. Had someone breached the Sanctum? Surely that was not possible, not without alerting anyone? Perhaps Wong or someone else from Kamar-Taj had come over for a quick visit?

Before he could get up and investigate, the doorknob to the room he was in started to turn. Frowning, Strange stilled where he was about to put the book on the table next to him and rise. This was like some sort of horror film or something, and he would not stand for that kind of sillyness. Just as he had realised that and stood up, the door opened, revealing his Cloak.

"Hello there," he greeted it, a little bit puzzled at its abrupt entrance. It had not been long, but he had already given up the idea of resisting talking to a piece of clothing. The Cloak was a powerful relic and clearly intelligent, and he was a Doctor, believing in _evidence_. That meant that if speaking to his Cloak yielded results, then he would speak to his Cloak all that he pleased. At least - when no one else was around to hear him do it and deem him crazy for it.

"Is something wrong?" It certainly didn't seem like it, as the Cloak just floated into the room without any sense of urgency whatsoever, closing the door tidily and then, somewhat to Strange's surprise, flung itself over the back of his chair like most people might collapse onto their beds after a long day.

"Alright then." Settling in again in his chair, ignoring the warm, velvety red fabric falling down onto one of his shoulders, Strange went back to his reading, ignoring the Cloak's excentricities for now. He was not in the least surprised though, when it draped itself in the exact same position the next night.

By the time Strange knew the entire Sanctum by heart and had started to bring mulled wine into his little library room with him, as the cold of winter (such as it was, here, which was nothing like winter in the mountains) was closing in, the cloak had made a habit of sneaking into his lap instead during these little evening reading sessions, stretching out over him like a perfect blanket and draping its folds down his legs, the collar usually resting against one of his hands as if demanding to be petted.

It also quickly developed a habit for winding its fabric around his forearms, but as it never did anything to hurt him in any way, nor ever wound itself around him too hard, he saw no harm in letting it. It was a bit like reading with a giant snake in your chair, but he had taken over from the Supreme Sorcerer of the Earth as its protector. It took more, much more than a cuddly Cloak to unsettle him, and he had started to idly pet it within a week of it starting to rest in his lap. No, to unsettle a man like him, it would take considerably more. It would take something like... a woman. And as had always been the case for him, there was only one woman which that could possibly be. Christine.

 _So, my first attempt of a light-hearted Cloak of Levitation fluff story became a very deep, soulsearching, from-the-heart type of instrospection story instead (it is posted if any reader is curious, title is "Doctor Strange and the Cloak") so I though I'd give the pure fluff another go. This, of course, became something else entirely. Stay tuned, and I'll even tell you what that is eventually. (When I have managed to figure it out myself.)._

 _I am not Marvel and do not mean to steal their stuff. Just... making them some free commercial material! (Which they cannot use without a silly disclaimer telling everybody it is MINE!)_

 _TapTap_


	2. A Friend and a Fever

Stephen felt like he was burning up, and he could not orientate himself. He thought there were hands on him, but he could not be sure. Friend or foe, he could not know that either. He was a doctor, though, and he could recognise his own symptoms easily enough. A fever. He had read, he dimly recalled, about using magic to make your enemies ill, but this was probably natural. Hadn't he gone out yesterday and been soaked to the bone? He thought so.

Fevers did not lurk in the rainwater itself, of course (not unless something was very wrong with said water, anyway) but being soaked did make it far more likely that you would actually fall ill as you were chilled as well as exposed to an infection, and at this time of year in New York, you _were_ exposed to an infection.

Fevers wore themselves out, and besides, Stephen had a more pressing concern. Where exactly was he? The world was misty and nonsensical, his eyes giving him no useful imput at present, and he had no way of knowing if the hands seemingly holding him down were those of a concerned friend or a malicious kidnapper. He could not be sure his condition was natural and not a trick of some kind, either, not until he knew more. And he didn't even remember enough to tell what time it was.

Panicking somewhat at that thought, and not thinking clearly, he tried to break loose but that was when he felt it. It was another kind of touch, not that of hands, and he knew it. It was his loyal Cloak, covering him gently and suggesting by touch he ought to lie down again. It curled around him protectively, helping against the chill.

Through his feverish, illogical mind, Stephen noted that it had curled up leisurely, keeping him warm, but it did not attempt to _cover_ him, not like it would if seeking to protect him from harm of some kind. That answered his earlier question: the hands, now resting comfortingly on his shoulders, perhaps making sure that he would remain lying, must be those of a friend. Good enough for him.

Settled, and now finally feeling safe, Doctor Strange fell asleep, watched over by his loyal companion, the boa constrictor, his Cloak.

* * *

Wong breathed out a long sigh in relief. He had not seen Stephen for a few days, but that was not uncommon. In the two months which had passed since they had lost the Ancient One, Strange had settled into the New York Sanctum and while he checked in several times a week, they did not normally hear from him every day.

This day though, he had been alerted by Strange's companion, the Cloak of Levitation, that something was off, when the Cloak had come into his library, seemingly agitated. Knowing the magical world too well to dismiss such a clear sign of something being amiss, but finding no magical disturbance when searching for such an explanation, Wong had brought a young Islandic novice with him and followed the Cloak back into the Sanctum through the door the powerful relic had come through in the first place.

He had found Strange collapsed on the floor in his library/study, body burning with fever. Even an elementary examination revealed that there was no magic or malice at play, just a perfectly ordinary human illness, so he helped the concerned Cloak settle Strange into bed in his nearby bedroom, and sent Elice, the novice, to cook some broth.

Before too long, Strange seemed to wake up, but he was not coherent and struggled to get away from Wong when he attempted to keep him calm and in bed. He did not blame the man, for he must be very confused.

The Cloak, reacting to the disturbance in an instant, came to his rescue, covering Strange and calming him down immediately. Wong was pleased to see that Strange knew his relic so well, it spoke highly of their bond to one another and would serve them well in the future. In the end, he left the novice there to assist the Cloak in taking care of the ill sorcerer, and went back home and returned to his duties when he was sure Strange been safely settled.

 _In case anyone wonders, the fever doesn't interfere with Stephen's eyes, but messes with his brain's ability to interpret more than the most basic sensory data such as touch: any other evidence is hazy and confused. That he can think at all is only because he is so very clever to start with._

 _I do not pretend to own Doctor Strange._

 _TapTap_


	3. Elice and Crimson

_I am not delusional and so I know I am not Marvel. I am just having some fun in their proverbial sandbox, is all._

 _TapTap_

Stephen found himself waking up in his own bedroom, but he couldn't at all recall how he'd gotten there. His cloak was with him, having tucked itself in around him like a crimson, overprotective blanket. It lifted its collar as it felt him moving, and he suddenly started to remember his own feverish struggles.

Somewhat gingerly, he sat up in bed, finding pillows propped up all around him. He doubted that it was the work of his cloak. As he could also remember - even if absurdly vaguely -hands steadying him in his fever, he assumed the cloak had gotten a little bit of human help anway.

What he did not expect, was for the door to open and a young woman to enter the room. The cloak didn't react, so apparently it knew her. She, very insightfully, he noted, ran a hand over the fabric of his companion as she passed. It looked like a greeting of sorts.

"Hello there, Master Doctor Strange," she said, putting down a glass of water on his bedside table. "I am glad to see you're awake. We found you passed out cold on your study floor two days ago, you haven't been coherent since. Oh," she added after a second, "and I am Elice. It is nice to properly meet you. We've never been introduced."

"We?" he questioned, reaching out to take the glass, hand even more unsteady than was common for him. The cloak helped him steady it. "Me and Wong," she explained in a soft voice which didn't hurt his head. _He_ might be the one who was a doctor, but _her_ bedside manner was excellent. "Apparently Crimson here knows how to use the portals between the Sanctum and Kamar-Taj. It came and fetched Wong when it couldn't wake you. He searched for a magical disturbance but found none, so he came here himself and brought me along to be sure. He and Crimson settled you in bed, and once the cloak had calmed you down, he left again to attend to his duties. They've been checking in about twice a day, and I've stayed here to assist Crimson in taking care of you, on Master Librarian Wong's request."

Taking a moment to digest all that information while he drank, Stephen eventually nodded, putting the glass back down. Or he tried to, only to have it snatched away and put in its proper place by his seemingly endlessly overprotective cloak.

"Well, that's neat," the young woman smiled, giving the cloak another gentle pat. "So how are you feeling, Doc? Up to eating some soup?" Making a mental run-through, he slowly nodded, deciding that his body probably needed a bit of energy at this point. "That would be good. Thank you. And thank you for accompanying my Cloak while I slept," he added, much more courteous than he'd ever cared to be before, but he had changed after all. He remembered seeing her around Kamar-Taj, just at the end of his apprenticeship. Though Novices came from all over the world, places closer to them were more common compared to places far away, and so her blond hair and far skin had stood out somewhat.

"You're welcome," she answered with a smile, flickering out the door with an energy which made her remind him just a little bit of his Cloak. When she'd gone, he looked to his companion, murmuring softly to it. "Thank you. But you seem to have had a good time. You really like her, don't you?" The Cloak wound itself around him protectively in reply, and Doctor Strange was far too tired after his brief encounter with sitting up to fuss about being fussed over, and so he allowed it. Besides, being cared for by a Cloak didn't count. He trusted his cloak not to tell on him or mock him. "Crimson, is it?" The Doctor added as an afterthought, lying down again and curling up under his guard dog of a cloak. He could have sworn that it snickered, as he fell back asleep.

 _Sorry that this chapter is a little bit short - I am just setting up the story, more will happen as I get a tiny bit further along. It will be a nice and long story in the end, so it takes a fair bit of buildup to get to the plot bits. :) I might also mention while I am at it that updates will be a few days slower in December, as I am writing an Advent Calendar which is updated dayly and thus eating a fair bit of my writing time._

 _Also, eagle-eyes readers might spot that Elice's grammar is far from perfection - it is because while speaking fairly faultless English, she does have a bit of an accent and does get the odd word progression wrong._

 _TapTap_


	4. Christine

_And look at that, a Christine!_

 _Also, the name Elice is pronounced with an initial "Ell" sound like in "Ellie". Hence it is pronounced Elliss, much like an E-version of the name Alice! In case anyone is interested..._

 _I mean no copyright infringement._

 _TapTap_

Christine felt decidedly foolish as she rang the doorbell. She wondered if she had the right address - this place was enormous, certainly for a New York property, and decidedly archaic. She was even more doubtful when the door was opened by a sweet-looking, decidedly young woman, but changed her mind to see that she wore those peculiar cult clothes. Before Christine could speak though, the younger woman did so, stepping aside to let her in. "Good afternoon, Doctor Palmer. Do come in."

Stepping inside, Christine took a moment to balk at the enormous, old-fashion but elegant space, and then asked. "How do you know my name?" "Oh, I recognised you," the girl told her with a slight smile. "Stephen keeps photographs on the mantelpiece in his study. Of friends. Yours is the only picture of someone I don't know," she suddenly grinned, adding, "you know, from the 'cult'".

"Oh, so you're from...?" Christine coughed, not knowing what to say. It was one thing to banter with Stephen, but she did not know this girl or what she might take offense at. "Yes, I am a cult member. I dropped out of school and left to try and find myself," the girl breezed through the information as if it was of little importance, "come with me, I'll take you to him."

"Stuck in a project?" Christine guessed, trying to joke somewhat, and Stephen could be a bit obsessed with whatever he got up to, really. "No, well, normally he'd be in his library, but he is in his bedroom," she stated easily, and Christine took another look at her at the extremely casual mention. Obviously, she knew he was there, it was not a guess, so she had to have been in Stephen's bedroom, and that was a normal... oh. Christine was surprised at how painful that sudden insight was, on several levels.

She knew with certainty, then, that she had still held out hope. For _them_ , for that they could make another go at being them, and make it work out this time. Besides that, Stephen had always, even through his arrogance and plenty of other downsides, been very clever and easy to respect. And the Stephen she knew was not the type to have a brainwashed twenty-year-old as a girlfriend. She thought he was better than that. In fact, up until this very moment, she would not have even considered it.

"Here you go," the girl's voice suddenly broke Christine out of her bleak thoughts. At her hesitant look at the door, the girl laughed, a clear and light sound. "Don't worry, he's been up for hours. Just go right in," she opened the door, announcing in a teasing tone, "Crimson, you've got a visitor! Is he awake, you think?" Then with a wink, she left - leaving Christine with no other choise than to enter.

She didn't know what she expected, but it was not what she found upon entering. Covered by his red cloak, Stephen was lying in bed, propped up on pillows, and she did not need to be a doctor to know that he had been unwell, just from a brief look at him.

"Christine!" He put a mark in the heavy tome he was propping up against his knees and smiled at her. Coming further into the room, she noted the waterglass on the bedside table and other small signs of someone taking good care of him.

"Hi. I'm sorry, I didn't know you were unwell," she apologised. He shrugged. "It is alright. My cloak sounded the alarm, so to speak, so they came and checked up on me. Another Master left Elice here with me. Prudent really - delegate the magical novice with a partial medical degree to check up on the Master of a Sanctum who is unwell. We can get through to each other easily, Kamar-Taj and the Sanctums, so it is simple..." he coughed slightly, but did not speak again, apparently realising that he was babbling. Christine felt a sudden relief as the pieces slowly fitted into place. "She doesn't normally live here, then, with you?" He shook his head. "No, she studies magic in Kamar-Taj. I am trying to convince her to come here - to New York - though, and continue her medical training. With some tutoring, I am certain she will be a great surgeon someday."

"Oh," Christine could feel herself blushing. Of course Stephen wasn't taking advantage. His interest was clearly of an entirely different, intellectual, kind. The young woman was only speaking of his bedroom in such a knowing and casual manner because he was ill, and of course she was looking in on him every few hours if he had been so sick that someone else had had to call for help. "I am glad you're better," was all she could think of to say.

Shrugging, as if to say it was of no consequense, he patted the bed beside him in invitation. "If it is a bad time..." "No, not at all. I am not infective any longer and besides, you are always welcome here, Christine." The way he said her name, like a prayer, made her gut clench, but not in an entirely unpleasant manner. "I am glad I came to check up on you," she admitted, reaching out and feeling his forehead "and that you haven't been alone."

She paused, after touching him, expecting him to lash out with a lecture or at the very least annoyance, but his only reaction was leaning into her hand with a slight sigh, closing his eyes. Not even realising that she was smiling tenderly, she brushed his soft, dark hair away, just looking out for him.


	5. Fingers In Your Hair

_When I said this story was slow burn... I meant it. There is going to be a LOT of fluff on the way: I hope you will enjoy all of the cuteness I have got lined up for them! :)_

 _I mean no copyright infringement._

 _TapTap_

"Eh, excuse me?" Christine smiled slightly as the girl at the kitchen table looked up, and promptly smiled back. "Hi, doctor Palmer. Did you need anything?"

"Well, I thought Stephen should eat something. Is there..." before she could finish her question, the girl had risen and lifted several generous soup-ladels of broth into a bowl which was already on the kitchen workbench. As Christine became silent, the girl said softly "Of course. Will you stay and eat, too?"

"Oh, there is no need to..." "It is no trouble." The younger woman smiled widely, preparing another bowl of soup, adding several spoonfulls of fried vegetables into Christine's helping. "Thank you," the doctor noted warmly before she returned to Stephen with the bowls. She was grateful someone so thoughtful had been here to look after him.

She ended up staying though the entire evening, Stephen spending a large amount of time dozing still. Christine liked the slight personality change in him, more obvious than ever in this vulnerable state. He had used to be so sharp and defensive, and if he considered himself at a disadvantage of any sort, even more so.

The lash-out just before he left - she now knew to Kamar-Taj - had been by far the worst, but it was not the only one. Now, the difference accentuated brutally in her mind. He was ill, but this time he could accept the care gracefully. Earlier, even during their relationship - such as it was - he had been very testy in all such situations. Now, he dozed peacefully while she ran her fingers through his soft hair and chatted to his cloak.

Elice had brought them a simple boardgame, and Christine giggled to herself as the cloak beat her repeatedly at the game. She did not notice Stephen having awakened and watching her, as the cloak floated closer and started to wrap itself around her arm. "You are a fabric boa constrictor, aren't you?" she asked it in a low voice, patting the fabric with her other hand and wondering out loud, "should I be worried about you doing that?"

"No," she looked up and saw Stephen smiling at her, eyes with a softer look than she had ever seen in his sharp gaze before. "It is a boa constrictor... but it won't eat you. It likes you. It does it to me all the time, and it has never hurt me yet." The collar of the cloak bobbed up and down at the statement, as if agreeing.

Christine smiled at it, before turning back to Stephen. "How do you feel?" He shrugged softly and yawned, even though he had just awokened. "I will be fine. I am just tired." "Do you want me to leave?" She watched his face carefully, so she could pick up on the faintest motion when he responded. "Oh, you must be tired. Leave if you want - but you are more than welcome to stay." She could see that he meant it. It made her feel warm inside, and she couldn't hold back a smile. "I will stay a while longer," she promised, running a hand across his forehead and shifting the hair away. She noted with satisfaction that he closed his eyes with a slight sigh under her touch. Maybe, there really was as much hope as she imagined there to be.

"Maybe, when you're feeling better, you'd be happy to consult for me again. We could use your expertise, even if you cannot cut anymore," she suggested, the next time he woke enough to speak. She was getting slaughtered in another board game by the cloak, started while he slept. Stephen smiled in response. "I can, actually. Cut, I mean," he waited patiently while Christine studied his shaking hands, puzzled. When she next looked at his face, he explained. "I can use magic to steady my hands despite the nerve damage, if needed."

She frowned as she processed that. "Why aren't you now? Because you're ill?" He shook his head. "I do not need to, not to make magic. I am a sorcerer now, not just a doctor. I prefer to use my magic for higher causes than my own vanity... but I could step inside the OR as a surgeon again, if you ever have need of me."

Christine merely stared at him for long enough to make him smirk, baffled. Stephen could give this all up, be famous again, and he _chose_ not to. She knew that he had changed, but this level of maturity she had absolutely not expected. It was a whisp of the responsibility she had always been able to sense deep down in him, one of the reasons she first fell in love with him, and she had to stop herself from kissing him right there and then. He was ill, after all, and it was too soon anyway. But someday... someday she'd like to kiss him again.

Stroking his hair as he drifted back off to sleep yet again, she could only hope that maybe, eventually, Stephen wanted that too. The cloak settled over the both of them, as Christine watched his hands, not daring to touch them even though he slept. He had learnt so much, become the best parts of himself, maybe he had made peace with this as well? It certainly sounded like it. Christine was grateful that he slept, and for his compassionate fabric companion, as it wiped her tears when she finally cried for all that had happened, all it had costed them, and perhaps, all the hope she could finally sense.


	6. Could I Ask You For a Favour?

_This chapter is short, sorry about that - but there will be another one tomorrow, so think of it more as a tease for that! :)_

 _I do not own anything else than my original ideas._

 _TapTap_

Christine had always meant to come back and check on Stephen in the next few days, but as it happened the hospital ended up being incredibly busy, so she had to content herself with calling. Several times she called while he slept, her call being taken by Elice instead, or - more commonly and also more amazingly - the cloak.

Smart as it was, the cloak always selected to start video conversations instead of mere calls, waving at her and showing her the peacefully sleeping Stephen. She had to commend Elice on her creativity in showing the cloak how to the first time. Stephen had shaken his head at his pupil teaching his cloak how to do video calls, but he hadn't objected, as far as Christine understood. What sort of life was this, doctor Palmer sometimes asked herself, that she engaged in video calls with a magical piece of fabric? She didn't even believe in magic! Then again, neither did Stephen, and he not only _used_ magic, he had used it to sacrifice himself in order to save the earth. It was possibly even more bizarre that she had had to hear as much from _Elice_ , because bragging rights aside, he had not even told her.

Christine smiled where she was picking up a patient's chart. Stephen really hadn't changed that much. He was still the same caring, basically compassionate, helpful, skillful person he had been since the first time she met him, but somehow he seemed to have lost all his worst qualities during his time in that cult. _If_ it was a cult. As far as she understood, if it was, Stephen was now the cult leader. If there _was_ a cult leader. Not that any of the people she'd met from this organisation this far seemed like typical cult members, if there _was_ such a thing as typical cult members.

She sort of doubted that there was, really. There was typical behaviour, though, for any organisations with power over anybody, like cults usually had, and neither Stephen, Elice or that cloak displayed any of the signs that she knew of. Whoever these people were, they'd rid Stephen of his obsession to cure his hands. Which certainly was an influence, but not a kind she could possibly object to. He himself had told her that as a sorcerer he could use magic on his hands to compensate for the nerve damage, but Stephen was clearly beyond that. That surprised her more than anything.

His arrogance was also gone. Responsible as he'd always been when presented with a chart of someone ill, it was his very irresponsible behaviour which had landed him in that car crash in the first place. He had always had shining leadership abilities, and his interns and residents had worshipped the ground he walked on, but now, if Elice was any indication, he had become a genuinely good leader. So maybe it was cult after all.

Christine gathered herself and focused on the chart instead, something which quickly eradicated any last remnants she might harbour of the will to smile. This patient was terminal. The tumour located just under the temporal lobe had been analysed and confirmed as benign - not cancerous in the least. Its mere placement, however, meant that this wouldn't do the patient any good. It wasn't strictly speaking inoperable, but close to it, and even a hospital as formidable as theirs had no one on staff capable of performing such surgery. Stephen would have breezed through it, but... _Stephen_.

Almost before she knew what she was doing, she was dialing him. "Christine! Hello!" He answered her at the first ring, sounding eager. Good - he sounded like he was well again. "Hello," she let her smile, brought on by his voice, surface again, knowing that he could hear it. "Could you do me a favour?"


	7. I Joined a Cult and Now I Lead It

_I do not claim to own anything which is property of Marvel. Or of anyone else, for that matter._

 _TapTap_

Christine felt profound, utter relief. It was a familiar feeling in this situation. Stephen, for all of his arrogance and his lack of respect, though both things were seemingly in the past, had always come when she called for him.

This felt exacly like all those previous times: so utterly familiar. Stephen stood silently beside her, reading the chart, that well-known look of utter concentration on his face as he pondered the possible solutions. "You are out of practise. Could you do it?" She asked him softly when he finally looked up. As ever, he looked utterly assured in whatever decision he'd made. "Yes."

It was almost eerie to Christine how familiar this entire situation was. This Stephen, focused, skillful and confident, just the right amount of self-assured, she could recal to an absolute t. The fact that Stephen also had a pleasant smile and was dressed entirely in blue robes was strangely redundant.

Entering the staff room with Stephen dressed in said manner however, now that was a _blast_. The cloak - which Christine made certain to pet in greeting - was hanging obediently from his shoulders in a very skillful imitation of an actual piece of clothing, but while that made Stephen look decidedly less like a sorcerer, he still looked a bit... well, like a spiritual leader in an organisation which was suspiciously like a cult.

Ignoring the blank stares and the silence, Christine sat down at one of the tables with her lunch, not missing the well-cooked meal Stephen had brought with him. "Elice is still staying with you?" He smiled and nodded. "Yes. I am helping her look over one of her final assessment scores and assignments. She is considering going back to medical school for her finals and practise years. I have promised to help her."

"That is kind of you," Christine could feel herself just how warmly she was smiling. For all that the intensely successful, slightly bad-boy Stephen of the past had drawn her in, almost against her will, she really was attracted to this well-mannered, patient, grown-up version. She was proud of him.

"Stephen?!" They both turned their heads and saw a wide-eyed Nick West staring at Strange. Stephen and he had met again after the accident, but then Stephen had been in scrubs, looking just a little bit different from what they'd been used to. Now, in his blue robes, he truly looked like the changed man he was. Nick blinked and smiled, half baffled, half condescending. "So, what have you been up to?"

Christine found herself really admiring Stephen's calm, especially as the entire room was suddenly listening. He had always been confident, but now he was so very self-assured in such a secure way which still was absolutely not arrogant. Changed indeed. He merely looked up at Nick, with that same "you are not worth my time" demeanour, but this time complemented by a humorous smirk as he replied calmly. "Meditating."

"Meditating?" Nick just looked more baffled. Stephen nodded, politely elaborating. "Yes, trying to center my will and heal my hands." Nick was looking decidedly condescending now, expecially seeing Stephen's still shaky hands. "I take it that _that_ didn't work!"

Stephen merely smiled, looking back at his food. "Oh, it works _perfectly_. But along the way I found other things to focus on, and my hands can wait. I can do that when it is needed," he was still smiling. Having seen first hand what he could do, Christine found herself smiling into her glass.

"Like when cooking?" Nick tried to mock him, not realising how ineffective it was. "No, he has one of his cult-members do that for him," Christine told him, noticing how Stephen hid a smirk. "He joined a cult _?"_ When Christine just tried not to giggle instead of responding, Nick turned to Stephen instead "You joined a cult?!"

"He did. Then he learnt it all, made master in record time and now he is running the cult. Though he still doesn't believe in spirituality," Christine teased them both, but mostly Nick. "Well, most of it _is_ nonsense. Just because I know _how_ to focus my energy and enter astral pathways doesn't mean I cannot still consider it spiritual nonsense," Stephen argued, smiling. "And Elice is not a cult-member. She is my apprentice."

"Your mystical cult apprentice?" Nick asked disbelivingly, blinking. "No, she is a medical student," Christine explained, starting to laugh as that finally made Stephen break down and giggle. She had not heard him giggle since the early days of their original relationship, and it was infective. Oh, by whatever spiritual forces Stephen now believed in, she had missed this part.


	8. Slightly Lovestruck in the OR

_I do in no way claim to own anything which isn't my stuff._

 _TapTap_

It felt fantastic to be back in the OR. It wasn't the same, not really, this was not his team and he was not a full-time doctor any more, much less surgeon, but muscle memory was obviously not ruined just because the nerves were.

It was a joy to make a smooth, steady cut, his hands obeying him like they had used to by the aid of magic, silence around him in awe, as he got to save a life in a much more direct way than he was used to these days. It reminded him that long before he believed in sorcery, he had believed in this.

Working alongside Christine was also a joy, as ever, but Stephen couldn't say which he enjoyed more - the awe of interns and qualified surgeons alike, or the absolutely green nuance to Nick West's face. How absolutely amusing.

It had not been so long since he had stood alongside them during the surgery of the Ancient One, but he had not been an active participant then, and there had been no loved-ones there; no one there _for_ her except him. This time, he got to experience the joy of saving someone they thought couldn't be saved, and telling her mother, partner, sister and three daughters that their mother, daughter, sister and lover would be fine. He didn't remember enjoying that bit so much. He had always focused on the OR part of his work, not the human touch. Perhaps his last year had changed that.

"It was my pleasure," he told the young woman he assumed was the patient's sister, smiling, still dressed in his scrubs. He and Christine both had assumed that would be better. They hadn't outright talked about it, but he was well aware of how unusual he looked in his robes.

He stayed in the hospital to the end of Christine's shift, and that was how he found himself joining her in the emergency room, sowing a neat row of stitches down the arm of a young student who had managed to cut himself on a knife while cooking, reattaching a thumb for an elderly man who had really grown too old to do his own DIY and bandaging the fingers of a machanic who had burnt herself on an exhaust. He hadn't done such things since he was an intern, but he found it surprisingly like slipping into a well-fitting glove with the hustle and bustle surrounding him.

Christine followed him home after her - well, their, really - shift was up, and they found Elice and the Cloak playing jenga in the living room. It turned out that there was a limit to the delicate touch of fabric, because it kept losing rather badly. As they entered, Elice was just wiping tears away, having laughed so much at its antics.

Christine stayed and recieved a lesson in cooking by the novice, while Stephen contented himself with stirring things, not up to steadying his hands more for the one night.

When Christine left, she gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he considered it a night (and day) well spent. It looked increasingly likely that maybe, despite everything which had happened, they could work it out after all.

 _This shall now move into a more situational phase for a while, one chapter being one event, which should hopefully make the chapters a bit of a longer read starting with the next one! :)_

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	9. Spiritual or Medical, I Can Do Both

_I am not Marvel and I do not claim to own their stuff. If I did I would be writing their new film and not fanfiction._

 _Seriously, can you imagine a Marvel film written by me? The fluffiest battle-scenes ever known to mankind and starring The Cloak. This is the best mental image ever._

 _TapTap_

Stephen sat in his study, letting his pen run by itself through magic, the invisible grip jotting down his notes with a steadier hand than his own. It had been almost two weeks since he had last seen Christine, when they had once more teamed up in the operating theatre - for the first time in over a year - but she called regularly.

He understood that she was busy - he was more than passibly occupied himself - and so he did neither hold it againt her nor worry about it. He missed her, though, if only after his tasks for the day were done and he settled down somewhere by himself with some old tome or scroll. When the silence and peace decended in the evenings, then he missed her.

So when he was drawn from his thoughts by a call, her smiling face appearing at his phone-screen, he did not expect anything much, but he still answered immediately.

What he did not expect at all was that he three quarters of an hour later would be standing in the room of a patient, by Christine's side, after listening to her exasperation of said patient and her "spiritual nonsense".

It was hard to say what was on the faces of the sick young woman's parents as they saw Stephen with their daughter's doctor. He could understand Christine's logic, though, and could only agree. If she refused to take medical advice and wanted spiritual advice instead, why _wouldn't_ you call a man who could do both?

Christine greeted the thre people present in the room, pretending not to notice the strange looks her fellow doctor got, and instead merely introduced him, the way she had introduced several of her collegues in the last few days.

"This is Master Doctor Strange, he's a neurospecialist who consult for us sometimes. He might be able to help with your case." "What, he is the resident schaman?" The father of the family snapped out, as distrustful of the spiritual as his - unfortunately for him, of age - daughter was believing.

"Oh, it was quite some time since I was a resident, or a novice, though not even as either did I believe in schamans. I am a Master in a society which believes in the spiritual side of nature and its balance, and I might be able to allay your daughter's fears, my colleage and fellow doctor hopes."

"Doctor Palmer doesn't believe in spirituality," the young woman replied, her eyes narrowed. She was very ill, but she firmly believed that only some sort of balance which Christine had neither understood nor been able to convey to Stephen could bring her out of it alive.

"No," Stephen agreed, sitting down at her bedside in his blue robes, the cloak clinging to his shoulders, but the collar moved as it curiously took the young woman in. She did not, both sorcerer and cloak saw, have the aura of someone who could separate their astral and physical forms at will - a usual sign of experience with sorcery.

"Christine does not believe in any of the things which you do, but she does not _need_ to. She has her part in the great balance: science and nature are not at strife, science is the voice nature uses to convey its truths. Now, I shall not lie to you. I do not believe in all that you do, nor - I can tell - do you believe in all that I do, but I think we can understand each other well enough. To be able to submit to what your body needs, what does your soul need?"

The girl was still watching Stephen warily, but her parents had relaxed, clearly relieved that there was finally someone who could talk the language their daughter did. Someone who could reassure her of the things other doctors could not, as well as possessing enough medical expertise that _they_ could trust him.

"My astral spirit could flee or die during surgery, or..." the girl started, stopping to glare at her scoffing father. "Nonsense," Christine cut in, making them all look at her again. "Stephen had plenty of surgeries when his hands were damaged," naturally, this drew the attention to his hands, but it did not bother him any longer, "but he is still able to do whatever you call it. It scares the hell out of me every time, too."

"You wouldn't know that," the girl critiqued, probably believing she was being mocked. (Again.) "The astral plane is different from the physical, so you wouldn't know if he had entered it!" Her father's protest that there were no such things was interrupted by Christine pointing out that entering it made the physical body slump as if empty or unconscious, making the room eerily quiet for Stephen's patient explanation.

"Actually, you can break through the divider with your astral form, with enough experience and strength. But be assured that your spirit is not harmed by modern medicine. It can help it along, however, but trust someone who has tried," he held up his damaged hands, "if you can heal with only traditional medical aid, that is by _far_ the easier rute to take."

His voice unusually gentle, Stephen studied the young woman for a few moments before he gave his final piece of advice. "Let Doctor Palmer help you: healing the long way, inside out, is more painful, time consuming and costly than anyone would chose, given the option. Start with the medicine, and if that does not take you all the way, I shall be more than willing to help. Your doctor will know where to find me." The girl agreed to surgery mere hours after Stephen's visit, and Christine could perform the surgery the very next day - just in time.


	10. Watching the Watcher

_This is just a sweet little indulgence: is Fluff Without Plot a thing? Well, it is now..._

 _I still do not own Marvel's stuff and mean no offense or copyright infringement._

 _TapTap_

Christine was mostly just watching Stephen. They were in his home, the "Sanctum", and Stephen was leaning against a doorpost, watching his disciple and his cloak inside the room. The young woman was wearing jeans underneath her robe, Christine noted with some amusement, and she was lying on the heartrug-covered floor, a book before her and Stephen's ever-curious cloak both covering her and attempting to be an entire set of pillows simultaneously.

The pair was entirely adorable together, both so inquisitive in their own way, but Christine was mostly watching Stephen. She stood across from him in the doorway, watching the raw affection on his face as he took in the cosy scene in front of him.

He looked well. He always did, these days. Well, possibly with one or two exceptions if she was videocalling the Cloak - Crimson, as Elice had nicknamed it - right after something disturbing and magical had occured.

He had always been slightly frantic before, slightly over-trained in a way she supposed. Sometimes she even got the impression that he had been too young, somehow, though he was her age: as if he'd never quite grown into his own skill and authority. She knew the mere concept was absurd - nobody had been sure like him, in the history of ever, but she still couldn't shake the impression.

Now, standing by the door, looking increasingly like a father looking in on his children, as well as a teacher watching over favoured students, it struck her yet again how he had matured since he joined that "cult". Or whatever it was. She kept repeating her discoveries in her own head, but it was too much to quickly take in.

He caught her at it regularly, also a difference - his attention to her and to others (even if they had no rampant brain damage) - but he had stopped asking her why she looked at him like that. He had ceased to worry about her preoccupation, accepting how she was watching him without question. Such a reaction was also new, but like all the other changes, she liked it.

She didn't know what conclusions about her behaviour he had come to in that genius brain of his, if he had a theory, insight, or if he really was changed enough to just leave it. She suspected that Elice had figured her out quite early, though, and it was - apparently - their habit to guide each other, so maybe she'd leant him some insight. Christine didn't really care. She was just enjoying watching Stephen, as he watched the pair who obviously meant the world to him. And when she reached out a hand to him, he willingly let her lead him away into the rest of the house, leaving the still unaware girl to her book in peace. The cloak would look after her.


	11. Sorcerers Meet Superheroes At Work

_Enjoy!_

 _Not mine, only the fluff is._

 _TapTap_

It took about three months. Three months after Christine first brought Stephen back into the operating theatre, before the medical society caught wind of it. There was some formalia - all of which Stephen got through effortlessly - and there was a renewed trend to ask him to hold lectures and provide expert consultations.

Medical professors and doctors seeking his advice per telephone or email got prompt responses, and those previously familiar with the man expressed quiet astonishment to trusted colleagues about the changes in the man. Where Doctor Strange had been known for his high-handed, stroppy, know-it-all behaviour (no matter how well deserved), this new man, with the same voice and as thorough expertise was humorous and even sort of humble, if somewhat haughty still.

Never one for dressing up as something he wasn't, but always one for the fine things in life, Christine had to smile as Stephen showed up for medical conferences wearing blue robes and his darling cloak (which she took care to pet when no one saw), unaffected by every strange look thrown his way. It felt odd, through, when she agreed to be his date to his first official medical talk since the injury, about six months after he returned, and he showed up on her doorstep to pick her up wearing a sleek, black suit. It still suited him so well, but she'd become accustomed to seeing him in "cult" fashion. Blue, that is, and robes. She found it even stranger how she found that view, once so common, so odd. Blue robes and a wonderfully expressive cloak are not what one expects to view as the norm, normally.

It was at the third or fourth talk, talks which she kept on accompanying him to as he was such a pleasant date these days, attentive to her instead of his ego and far less arrogant, that Tony Stark showed up. The room grew quiet as the billionaire engineer approached the medical lagend - both having quite well-documented egos. A lot of the spectators likely anticipated quite the showdown. Christine did so herself, bracing herself for when Stephen would notice Stark. And then he did.

It did not play out as Christine thought it would, though. At one moment, she was standing to one side of the room with Stephen, he in his dark suit, she in her sparkling blue ballgown, Tony Stark walking confidently through a gap which was opening through the throng of people magically like the sea for Moses, Stephen sipping champagne and talking to someone else, his hands trembling only slightly.

The next moment, Stephen turned his head and saw the legendary engineer, lovering his hand and turning, bringing Christine with him gently in the movement with the hand he had around her waist. Another second, and Stephen had let her go to let himself get engulfed in the bearhug of the century, his face lit by a smile. "Tony! Everything worked out alright, I trust?"

"Fabulously! And you still have such great facial hair, I see!" "Well, someone had to rescue the style," Stephen bantered back, shocking Christine even more. Since when did Stephen _banter_ with anybody but the cloak? (Well, or Wong, but neither man would ever own up to it being banter.)

"Touché," Stark allowed. Turning to her, he smiled and took her hand to kiss, asking, "And who is your lovely date?" Stephen rolled his eyes in response and reclaimed his grasp around Christine's waist, mumbling so softly it almost became a threat. "Do not even think about it, Stark. I know how to kill you and make it look like an accident."

Bending slightly towards Christine, Tony whispered his reply to her. "That is true, you know. I bet he could." Then he smiled and - from one second to the next - made himself scarce, disappareing back into the readily parting crowd just like he'd come, leaving a smiling Stephen and a surprised mass in his trail.

Still, Christine reflected, sitting on a banister in the sanctum and watching the Sorcerer's unconcious body, hoping he would stop projecting and come back sooner rather than later, as she had some CT scans to show him. It was not even half as odd as the medical engineering conference they had attented together where he had, seemingly without reason, struck up a conversation with the infamous Doctor Bruce Banner, the legendarily elusive man who'd somehow thought it entirely normal to offer Stephen a handshake and a smile.

Sometimes, she reflected, as Stephen's eyes slowly flickered open, she wondered quite how extensive Stephen's secret life still was, even though he never intentionally thought to keep anything a secret from her, as far ask she knew anyway. How much of his life was she always going to miss, simply for not belonging in his world? She rather thought it was a lot, but she also granted, privately, that it did not bother her: not as long as nothing was kept secret by intent, and she believed him when he told her he never did.


	12. Christine Is On The Hunt

Christine took the last steps up towards the door, firmly trying to press down her nerves. This was the first "official", truly private date she and Stephen had had in years. Ever since their breakup, in fact. Sure, she'd been around many times, he'd come to see her at the hospital for a vide variety of reasons (everything from her needing someone who knew what an "astral pathway" was, to blood gathering in his lungs) and they'd been on a number of dates, but all of those in public.

After every single one, Stephen had been a perfect gentleman and disappointingly dropped her off by her door with barely as much as a kiss. _This_ time, it was a date, and they would be alone. Well, as alone as anyone ever was in a magic sanctum and centra of mystical energies where people dropped in and out simply by stepping out of thin air, at least.

She knew her smile was nervous, when Stephen opened the door and the cloak flew out from whatever it had been doing behind him in the room to wrap around her in greeting. Stephen had assured her that this meant it liked her. Apparently, it only ever did that to Stephen himself, her and Elice.

"Hello, there, Crimson," she greeted it, using the Icelander's nickname, before she looked up to the top of the steps and smiled at Stephen. "Good evening to you, too." She had to pause and just watch him for a moment, as he smiled in greeting. Hallowed by the light of the door, Stephen looked gorgeous.

He was still wearing his blue robes, looking as effortless on him as his blue schrubs had once used to do, but his hair was styled more like it would be if they were going out. As he stepped aside, welcoming her in, she forced herself to unfreeze. With a little luck, she would get to admire him more, later. Much later, maybe. Smiling warmly for herself, she hoped as much, as she stepped into Stephen's home.

 _I am very sorry this chapter ended up on the short side. I was planning a walk-through of their very lovely date, but Christine's dirty thoughts made me rethink this idea. The next one will be longer, I promise._

 _No copyright infringement is meant._

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	13. Staring Is Not Creepy, You Tell Yourself

_Here is the promised continuation of Christine and Stephens date. So to speak._

 _Dammit, Christine, stop taking over my chapters with your appreciations of Stephen's hair! This isn't even the first time. (Nor will it be the last, I am just saying.)_

 _I am still not Marvel._

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Christine opened her eyes slowly. She had been sleeping alone ever since she broke up with Daniel (ages ago) - who was only really a rebound after Stephen anyway - so the warm body next to her in the bed was a surprise. She opened her eyes quickly as she caught up with her own thoughts. _Stephen_.

Stephen who was still sleeping peacefully next to her. There was some light coming into the room, but only very little, as the closed, heavy curtains did their job, so she wondered what it was that had awakened her. The next moment that answered itself, as she recognised a hiss from outside to be in Elice's voice. " _Crimson_! Leave Stephen and Christine _alone_! Christine is not hurting him, we both know that, so you can let her borrow him for a bit longer, it is only _polite_! You're being _rude_ even for an _overgrown dishcloth_ , nevermind a wise _artifact_!"

Christine buried her head into her pillow to muffle her laughter, but apparently this sort of harsh protest worked on Stephen's cloak (apparently acting more like a really stubborn cat at the moment), because the hallway silenced again.

As she managed to calm down, Christine looked over at Stephen. His sleep had not been disturbed - she wasn't surprised, the cloak swivelling around while he slept must be a _very_ regular occurence - and he was lying peacefully on his side, his hand resting gently against the bedclothes, as if he was touching something alive, his fingers twitching every now again, a movement distinctly distinguishable from the regular shaking.

Finding that utterly sweet and charming, Christine let her eyes drift up to Stephen's unruly hair and his only half visible face. She blushed lightly, remembering how she had all but attacked him last night, kissing him instead of accepting a drink in the library. She hadn't wanted to talk, she had wanted something else, and after startling briefly Stephen had been only too willing to give in, letting her lead. He had always had too much ego to be so good a listener, before. Christine smiled softly for herself. If you used _listener_ in a very wide sense, that was.

Needless to say, the rest of the evening had been _very_ satisfying. For both of them, she hoped. She smiled for herself. It had certainly seemed so. And she was certain this new Stephen was even _less_ likely than the old one to let anyone bully him into doing things he didn't fancy doing. And that had never been something you had to worry a lot about with him.

Not that the beginning of their evening hadn't been nice enough, also, Christine pondered as she reached out a hand and stroked Stephen's unruly hair. He didn't stir, just mumbled softly for himself. They'd had dinner in front of a live fire in the living room, Stephen seemingly having taken care to select all her favourite dishes.

They'd talked for almost an hour after they'd eaten, only interruped by the cloak's attempts to get Stephen's attention like a very red version of a playful labrador, until Christine had taken pity on it - Stephen was ignoring it favour of talking to her, but she could see that he didn't want to - and they'd honest-to-god played catch with it in the living room. Then Stephen had asked it to check up on Elice and offered her drinks in the library. And the rest, as they said, was history.

Burrowing more deeply into the warm, soft bedsheets, Christine smiled for herself. Stephen had been so foolsih when he thought himself a charity case. She wanted this so much. Wanted _him_ so much. Espcially now, with this new, listening, feeling, wise Stephen. Turning to better be able to watch him, she mentally waved away all concern that her gazing was creepy. _He_ had willingly invited her into his bed, that _had_ to count as permission.

Honestly, he was just so watchable. There was no way you could be this close and _not_ watch him sleep.

With that last excuse, Christine stopped thinking and just stared her fill for the rest of the morning, up until the cloak finally disturbed the peace by swooshing in and rudely awakening Stephen, thus putting a stop to her new(ish) favourite past-time.


	14. Wherefort Art Thou, Injuries?

_I do not own Doctor Strange - I cannot even control Christine in my own interpretation._

 _TapTap_

Nobody questioned the decision to call in Neurosurgeon Stephen Strange for a case like this. Though he had officially left the hospital's employ some eighteen months earlier in responce to his traumatic injury, he had made a comeback as a consultant and he was still the best they had in many parts of the field. That he had become much easier to converse with after his hiatus, did not make the matter worse, either.

The hospital management had considered offering him his job back, some even suggested that they _had_ offered, but he was not back. Rumour had it that he was a spiritual leader of some kind, but few believed it as he was not spiritual by any stretch of the word. That he was on call for the Avengers was a popular theory, as well, seeing as he had been seen on more than friendly terms with Tony Stark at parties, and the two of them more than once seemed to "talk shop" so to speak, if briefly. Maybe geniuses naturally just got along. (No one pointed out the obvious and rather glaring flaws in _that_ theory.)

With all the rumours going around, no one reacted when Doctor Strange showed up at the hospital dressed in blue robes and a large red cloak, no one but Christine Palmer, whose wide-eyed reaction was found peculiar by many of the other hospital personel at the time. Didn't she know him well, even now? They were seen together frequently, so why the shock? Chalking it up to probably having to do with a late night gone too far and some shame about it, or something along those lines, no one even remembered the actual reaction they had noted, just a day later.

* * *

Christine was not surprised that they had called in Stephen for this case (even though she was the one most often doing so, she was by no means the only one to occasionally request his help) nor did it even much register with her that he was dressed in his blue robes and carrying the Cloak. She was used to him looking like that, after all, and while it awarded him plenty of curious glances, she barely noticed on the best of days, and today she was distracted as soon as he showed his face.

She actually - later on - marvelled at how no one else noticed. It was subtle, she supposed, but _still_. They were _doctors_ , for goodness' sake! Tidy and otherwise well as he looked, Christine could not stop staring at his face, when she first ran into him. Thin as it was, as if made by a _thoroughly_ sharp instument, Stephen had a long, clean cut across one of his pretty cheekbones, and a bruise over the opposite eye. She could not spot more injuries, but she felt it was not unfair to assume that there were some, underneath his very covering clothing.

Both visible injuries had been expertly cared for, and were likely more than a few days old - a week, maybe - which was why they were so subtle, they were already fading, but she could still not understand for the life of her why she was the only one to notice. More inportantly, what had Stephen been _doing_?

For once, when he came to the hospital, they hadn't had any time to talk, and she had no opportunity to ask. They had already planned for another public date a few days on, and she hoped they could talk then. Coffee after the event, maybe?

It was not until two days later, late at night in bed, it came to her. That woman they had lost at the operating table: the woman Stephen told her was his mentor. She had died from being viciously cut with _extremely_ sharp blades. Sitting up sharply as if awakening from a nightmare, Christine gasped. What had Stephen gotten himself _involved_ in? How could she have forgotten that that happened? How dangerous was sorcery, really? With what felt like a large lead ball in her stomach, Christine lay back down in her cold, solitary bed. She had quite a few questions to ask, she knew that now. Much as he had shared facts and trivia about magic, she realised that when it came to his actual, day-to-day _life_ , she didn't really know anything.


	15. The Company You Keep (Baffles Me)

_No copyright infringement or small-talk intended._

 _(This chapter is inspired by some reviewers wanting more cooperation with the Avengers, by some other noting that geniuses weren't always getting along, and my sudden craving for some IronPepper or whatever they're called...)_

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The unexpected had always been the expected when it came to Doctor (lately Master) Stephen Strange. As a direct consequence of this Christine was very rarely surprised by anything which happened in the large "Sanctum" whenever she visited.

She had gotten used to Stephen's favourite garment getting up to mischief or hugging her (usually far less reservedly so than Stephen would), to there being takeout from Hong Kong on the dinner table, still hot, or that her former (and getting there once more) boyfriend left his body behind for sometimes rather large periods of time in order do who-knows-what.

Christine no longer raised an eyebrow to people from all over the whole bloody world suddenly appearing in the living room on a moment's notice or that there were sentient items in one of the upstairs lounges set in great glass display cases. She didn't question how Stephen could get himself (and her too, apparently) through glovy holes he made in the air or that his cloak made him float. But she _was_ slightly surprised when she bumped into a well-dressed strawberry blonde on his doorstep, and it only took her half a second to recognise Virginia "Pepper" Potts, CEO of Stark industries.

She was even more surprised however when said woman merely smiled at her and stepped up on the steps leading to the front door alongside her, speaking as if it was all completely normal and they already knew one another, if vaguely. "You must be Christine? I am Pepper. Elice said we should just let ourselves in..." That, of course, was the moment when Stephen's cloak opened the door from inside in a flurry of read fabric, only to fly back indoors immediately, as if in a hurry. Christine disregarded that throught immediately. Cloaks weren't in a rush. Usually, anyway.

"Hello, Crimson," Pepper let Christine step into the enormous house first and then shut and bolted the door. "Have you seen everybody?" The Cloak swirled and started to fly at a comfortable pace up a set of stairs, as if leading the way. Pepper gave Christine a smile and made to follow. "I suppose that is our cue."

Still with a sense of surreality (and boy, did that take a lot these days) Christine followed the famous business woman upstairs, lead by the magical red cloak. Once they were up, things only got weirder.

There were muted voices comeing from elsewhere in the Sanctum, but lying on a thick carpet in front of a massive fireplace was Elice, entertaining a baby or small toddler with a selection of colourful finger puppets.

"Pepper! And Christine!" The young Icelandic doctor-to-maybe-be looked up and smiled at them, hearing their steps, no doubt. The cloak settled on the carpet as well, seemingly curious about the child. "Stephen and Tony are upstairs - they've been arguing since midmorning. I suppose there are such a thing as too many geniuses for a task...? Anyway, Doctor Banner is up there, too, I don't understand how he can stand them both."

"Force of long habit, I suspect. Thank you very much for looking after Maria yet again, Elice. I am grateful," Pepper Potts moved to pick up the now eagerly babbling child, who was reaching her arms out for her. "That's no bother. She's a lovely child - I suspect she got her father's smarts as well as yours, Virginia, but she doesn't seem to have picked up any of his attitude, as of yet, anyway!" The CEO and - more importantly - mother laughed. "I _dread_ her teeange years already. I shall take her home. Do tell her father for me whenever he emerges that I am not counting on him for dinner." With that, Elice nodded her acceptance and said her goodbye to the small daughter of two of the most influential people in New York, and then mother and daughter left.

"It might be a while until Stephen comes out of there," the comment made Christine snap out of her shock and look at the younger woman, currently busy cleaning up the toys off of the floor and carpet. "You're welcome to wait if you want to, otherwise I can tell him you called on him. He could always portal to yours later, you know." "Yes, eh, I don't want to disturb. Was that really Virginia Potts?" she couldn't keep herself from asking after a second of hesitation.

"Uh huh," Elice seemed entirely unmoved, and only now Christine realised that there was a wide selection of toys in the room, as if a child came there often, as well as a very pretty toy box the younger woman with her blonde fishtail braid was currently filling up. "Stark has their daughter with him sometimes and then his wife picks her up if he lingers."

The younger woman was gracious enough to pretend not to notice anything amiss when Christine excused herself rather hastily, asking her to tell Stephen to drop by later. Because bisarre as many things had been ever since Stephen suddenly walked into the hospital bleeding, this was an entirely new kind of strange and she so needed some time alone to process this.

For once she was glad that it was almost midnight before Stephen eventually showed up.


	16. Elice, Meet My Friend, Pangborn

_We've had Stephen's perspective, we've had Wong's, and we have had Christine's for a while now. Eventually we'll have some Cloak to inject a bit of sense, but for now - Elice's pov! :D_

 _No copyright infringement intended._

 _TapTap_

It was a quiet day. Elice sat by a desk in the library, her legs pulled up and hugging her knees in the huge armchair she was seated in. She was resting her cheek against her one knee and watching with some amusement as the cloak played with a tablet over in the couch, apparently browsing wikihow for methods about how to embroider oneself.

She wasn't actually surprised that it got hits, crazy as that was. Everyone on the internet seemed to be a bit crazy, in all the best of ways. And sometimes, completely insane, in all the worst of ways, too, but the two were really not to be mistaken for each other.

Elice had just started to doze off where she sat when there was a loud, desperat knock on the front door, the kind of someone in an absolute crisis, in the midst of panic. She was wide awake and out of her chair in moments, only to almost fall flat on the floor due to her not having taken into account the fact that her legs had fallen asleep after her long time sitting still in a slightly cramped position.

Luckily, the carpet in the library, wide, soft and fluffy, helped ease the fall when she caught herself on it with her hands, and the cloak caught her before she could really hit the ground. "Thank you, Crimson. You must think we humans are so helpless and clumsy, mustn't you," she spoke to herself rather than the cloak, almost, but she still gave it a playful shove at its clearly smug look. "Oh hush. Now shall we see who is at the door?"

By the time Elice had picked herself up off of the carpet (and helpful, magical, smug flying cloak, for that matter) there was a voice rising in the entrance hall. The unfamiliar voice was getting increasingly loud and upset, but as she moved closer to the sound, there was another, deeper, calm voice revealed underneath the sound - Stephen, already there and trying to calm their guest, whoever he - she was pretty sure the loud, upset voice belonged to a male - might be.

Something about how Stephen's voice rose and fell told her that this was not a stranger, nor was it necessarily a close friend. Of Stephen, anyway, because the cloak perked up at the other voice and flew quicker towards the hall, arriving a full five yards ahead of Elice. Maybe, she thought, it thought Stephen might be in danger.

Once she arrived at the double doors leading from the corridor out into the grand entrance hall, where the cloak had already sneaked out before her, she pushed them open and stopped to survey the scene. Stephen was standing next to a man at the bottom of the hall, beneath the first set of stairs, and why was evident, as the man was apparently in a wheelchair. She didn't recognise him.

"Ah, Elice. Pangborn, this is Elice, the local apprentice. Well, she is supposed to study at Kamar-Taj, but she gets along better with Crimson - the Cloak of Levitation - than all the others combined, and she might as well study here, so... Elice, this is Pangborn, he was a student at Kamar-Taj before our time. He's a local from here in New York, like myself, and was the one who first told me about magical healing..." Stephen paused, looking at the man with concerned eyes. "It helped him out of the wheelchair... at least, it did for a while." "I heard of you," Elice replied, to Pangborn more than to Stephen, out of courtesy. "The Ancient One spoke of you several times to me."

"Yes, she is... where is she? What happened, how could she have allowed it?" Pangborn's voice was near breaking. "She died," Elice told him gently. "Kaecilius killed her before the final battle - Wong, Mordo and Stephen finally defeated him after Stephen bartered with Dormammu to make him leave. Kaecilius drew him here." Pangborn looked aghast. "You've been out of the loop," Stephen's voice was almost dismissive, getting straight to the point instead, "what do you mean 'what happened'? What did this to you?" "Not what, who. _Mordo_ stole my magic. How could he do that?"

Pangborn's expression was painfilled and Stephen's was puzzled, but Elice lit up. "He broke your bonds to magic! He cannot steal the force or your expertise, but you can break the link, well, with a minor sorcerer like you or me, one more experienced can do that!" She smiled at him, looking reassuring, once again reminding Stephen of her excellent bedside manner. "A master can help you restore it though, so it is completely fixable!" She turned and looked expectantly at Stephen, who blinked and closed his mouth.

"Right," Master Doctor Stephen Strange decided. "We better get Wong. I have not done any recearch into this area. I never thought it possible." "Well, sometimes, just once in a blue moon or two, idle reading triumphs strategic studies," Elice beamed, just as the cloak swished by and deposited a very heavy book in it's chosen human's arms.

"Scratch that," Stephen amended. "The cloak has clearly seen this before." He opened up "The art of magic bonding" and let his cloak guide him as to what section of the book he needed. One to comfort, one to guide and one to do magic. Well, he might have used to be the lone wolf, but that did not mean that he could not learn how to use teamwork.


	17. Nobody Agrees With Anybody Else

_So, I am getting busier (now that autumn is coming along) and to avoid WIP's suffering for it and getting forgotten, my stories have each gotten a date when they'll get updated every month. The monthly scheduled update for Doctor Strange will be the 21:st. Variations and the occasional extra chapter will occur (I do strive to update this particular story every third week, not just once a month) but I hope this will keep me from forgetting any story. This way, you will at_ least _get monthly updates. (Except for the LotR WIP. I've given up on regularity with that one...)_

 _No copyright infringement intended._

 _TapTap_

To anyone outside of the group itself, it might have made a very peculiar scene. There was Elice; the young, blond woman trying not to smirk as she watched the others. The magical Cloak of Levitation was swirling about as it very eagerly gathered up everything needed with the air of a specialist; an air rather spoilt by the puppy-like eagerness it was also displaying.

Next to them, there was Master Doctor Stephen Strange, his trembling fingers entwined as he watched his cloak's eagerness and his apprentice's assumption that there was only one way forward. This experienced medical man and sorcerer, he saw several. And lastly, there was the broken man, who had learnt to heal and then been broken again, by someone he thought was a brother in arms, at least. Not the most natural of groupings, or maybe they were.

Finally, the cloak fell back onto the shoulders of its chosen mortal, signalling to all three humans that they now had everything they needed to complete the ceremony.

"You will really help me with this?" Pangborn asked, not willing to believe that it could be so simple. "Of course! Why would we not? You're..." Elice looked over to Stephen, growing silent as she didn't see this emotion reflected in his eyes. "Stephen?" Her voice grew incredulous. "You're not going to let Mordo _do_ this to him, are you? He's grown insane! You're letting him win!?"

"Yes," Stephen agreed easily, "he has. And it is my duty - some might say privilege, but I hope I will never grow so silly - to protect my people. My fellow sorcerers, be they here or at Kamar-Taj, in London or Hong-Kong. I wouldn't hesitate to do this for them. But Pangborn... left. I cannot see any duty to perform this for someone who was only too happy to leave when it suited him. What do we owe him now?" There was something odd in his voice, something very thoughtful, not angry or judgemental, as if he was arguing not about a life, but for a methaphorical problem of some sort.

"So you refuse to aid me," Pangborn's jaw was like set in stone, as if he had been expecting this blow. "I never said that." Stephen argued. "Then you have a price." The other man guessed, but it sounded more like conviction.

"This is crazy!" Elice cut them off, making the cloak's collar tweak up from where it was resting against Stephen's cheek, as if to soothe him. "He's injured and in pain and you can _help_! It is barely even a _strain_ for a sorcerer like you! Besides, you're a _doctor_! You swore to help people!" The novice's voice had gone high, both in volume and tone, and she was radiating upset in every way from every single fiber of her being.

"That is a good thought, I am proud of you for that one," Stephen replied calmly. "You'll make the world an excellent doctor yet. But it is not the right answer." Drawing a deep breath, Elice finally replied. "There is a right answer for something like this?!" Her voice now expressed almost contempt, but Stephen's smile was fond anyway. "Yes. The answer, Elice, is that while Pangborn made himself not be my responsibility, Mordo still _is_. And thus, I am responsible to try and right his wrongs, if possible, until such a time when I can stop him altogether. No, I am not letting him win. That is the answer to this."

"So, you will help me?" Pangborn looked a little puzzled at this argument about him in which he had considerably little part. "I never said I would not help. I merely asked you not to be so obvious, both of you," Stephen replied easily. "Besides, I rather do consider myself owing you a favour..." he looked down on his still trembling hands, but he was smiling. Then, looking up, his smile got less whistful and more determined. "Well then, Crimson," he started, eyes filling with the strength of determination which had got him so successfully to the top of his field. Twice. "Where do you suggest we start?"


	18. Everything You Can Do Cloak Can DoBetter

_This chapter is because, well, we need more cloak. We always need more cloak, really._

 _No copyright infringement intended._

 _TapTap_

The cloak sighed internally. Sometimes it wished its cloth could truly sigh. Oh, its foolish young mortal, so proud and yet so very, very young and ignorant. It had good hope it could help him with that, given time - and it certainly had time, sometimes it thought too much - but for now, it just had to help solve this problem.

It swished around - quite patiently, it thought, for the circumstances - while its mortal showed all his snark and worrying the younger sorceress, somewhat rudely and unnecessarily, according to the cloak.

It supposed it was also worrying the not-any-more sorcerer who left them, but while the Cloak liked the can-walk-now man, it supposed it felt more like a bit of justice in that case. After all it _liked_ the snark of the mortal it had chosen as its wearer.

As long, that was, that he sorcerer _would_ in fact help, after he was done being snarky.

So the cloak swished around, watching, fairly confident that its sorcerer would be helpful in the end (it was, in fact, proud of him, just as it was even prouder of the young novice for her compassion. They made a good team. All three of them) but keeping an eye out just in case it needed to drop something heavy on its human's head.

As it turned out, that wasn't needed. In fact, the mortal made the cloak proud and glad by calling on it himself, asking for its help, like the cloak always knew he needed. It was a good team effort, in the end.


	19. Potential World Ending Disaster?

_There is plot coming our way! (Wading painfully through all of the delicious fluff...)_

 _No copyright infringement intended._

 _TapTap_

Christine was frozen. People has those moments often, true, but not senior doctors at the emergency entry to surgery. For that reason, she got many strange looks, even though she was giving orders and moving within another second.

The reason, which Christine did not want to dwell on but didn't dare ignore, was the wound in the thigh of the young woman on the stretcher.

It was a stab wound, which happens, of course - this was a hospital, after all - people get stabbed in bar brawls or drop kitchen knives on their toes. Business as usual. A knife, however, has a blade, and the blade is shaped in a certain way or is more or less sharp. A serrated knife as a fishing blade or a bread knife tears skin, while a smooth, sharp blade cuts more cleanly. No matter how sharp and smooth, however, there is always some sort of tear. The signs may be ever so slight, but they were always _there_.

Always, that is, in the normal world. Christine had only ever come across _one_ such wound so smooth that a knife could not have made it - the wound which killed the woman Stephen had called "the Ancient one". Now, she was looking at another one; exactly the same.

This woman, however, was not at all as badly injured, but she was frantic with fear. Most people calmed down at least a tiny bit when being told they were in the hosiptal. If not, there was usually a cause, like a loved one that had been in an accident with them or any other clear cause from outside the hospital walls. This woman seemed to think someone - "they" - were coming for her, and being in a hospital didn't seem to help this anxiety any. In her mind, she still wasn't _safe_.

Ducking aside for a second, Christine did the only thing she could think of: she texted Stephen as full a description as she could before she had to get back to her patient, complete with a plea for help. She could help with the wound - but she could not help with a problem she could not even understand. Stephen had seemed to know back then - maybe he did now, too.


	20. She Is Cleverer Than You

_Look at that, action!_

 _No copyright infringement nor disrespect against the copyright owners is intended._

 _TapTap_

The young woman remained unsettled as Christine and her colleagues got to work, not putting her under a general anaestethic for this type of wound but instead just choosing to give her something to relieve the pain. She remained lucid so far, however, and she did not grow less restless nor worried.

Rather, she seemed to get increasingly agitated as the minutes ticked by, as if she was afraid to be stationary for this long. Christine did not get it, but it gave her a bad feeling to say the least. Her colleagues did not share in her worries, secure in their belief that the young woman was merely spooked or delusional. Christine would not bet on that.

It had not even been half an hour and though the woman was stable, they still had work to do, when four men arrived at the scene along with two women - five of them flanking the sixth person, striding dramatically through the hallway to the room where they were caring for the young female.

Perhaps, if things were different, they would have looked more than a little silly, but the actual effect of the strangely put-together individuals in their robes looked distinctly menacing. Where her colleagues stepped aside in shock; not able to connect these individuals to the young woman and generally taken aback, Christine did the only thing she could do at that moment, she stepped out the door- after a moment of hesitation, once she realised that they had indeed been discovered - and placed herself between the threat and her patient.

The man at the front smirked. "Oh, the ignorance of the awerage New Yorker" he drawled. "There is nothing you can do, little doctor - step aside, or I'll step right through you!" He smirked, with the sort of arrogance only shown by someone who is utterly sure of themselves but have no true value nor insight to anything actually important.

"Oh, to the contrary, she is much cleverer than you. She is buying time - unneccessarily, as it turns out." Christine had never, ever been so relieved to see Stephen anywhere (and she could recall quite a few occasions when she'd been _very_ relieved to see him in the past).

The effect of Stephen's arrival was immediate. Later, other doctors spoke about a golden light illusion occuring in several of the robe-wearing individual's hands - but any magical battle was short. Faced with Master Doctor Stephen Strange, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme? They ran. Within a forthnight, any medical personel besides Christine or Stephen had convinced themselves they had imagined the entire scene.

What surprised as much, but was not as generally forgotten by anyone in that hospital room, was that the previously terrified young woman had breathed a sigh of relief once Stephen stepped out of the hallway and into the room, side by side with Christine. "Master Strange!" The woman did something strange with her hands, and then handed over what looked like a small golden trinket to their former colleague, who blinked slightly at whatever it was he saw in the tiny piece, but thanked her politely, assuring her he'd keep her safe for some reason.

They did not have any more problems with the girl, nor was there any more unusual occurences that day. And when she was eventually healed enough to leave, even if it was against medical advice, Doctor Palmer was - strangely - the one to take her home, or wherever she in fact took her.


	21. Right In Front Of Your Eyes

_My apologies for this chapter being a week late - I have been finishing up seven stories this December, so my regular long-running sagas were put on the back-burner for a little bit there. Thank you for your patience._

 _TapTap_

Christine did no longer bat an eye that she was being let into a magical "sanctum" by a flying, sentient cloak in order to visit her... she honestly wasn't quite sure what Stephen was to her right now. She was not even startled by her lack of startlement at this point.

She greeted said cloak with a pat and let it lead her upstairs, only to stop and blink in the stairs once she saw what was above it. She heard talk of magic literally all the time. She saw enough proof of it happening, too, to know by now that neither she nor they were crazy. She knew Stephen could travel by making glowy rings in the air and she had seen those... people... make other glovy things in the hospital when they came for her patient. But Stephen seemed to just _be in_ the magic, she had never noticed him... well, actually _doing_ it.

Maybe that was a proficiency thing, some sort of level of skill or control about magic, because Stephen was not here. Elice and the stabbed-with-something-which-wasn't-a-knife-but-probably-with-some-sort-of-magic-she-could-bet-glowed-as-well-patient was casting sparks of golder glitter out into the air from their hands, standing in an open space upstairs. It looked like they were practising. Maybe it was hard - which would make sense - or maybe her, now Stephen's, patient had to recover somehow after her injuries.

"Christine!" Elice looked up right in the middle of making some sort of glovy circle which turned into a blade, a blade which Christine just knew was sharp enough to cause the injuries of the woman standing next to the Islandic.

"Hello," said woman was turning towards the staircase as well, the sparkles in her hands going out as she stopped moving. "Thank you, for your help. And for standing up to those sorcerers - I know the risks you took, and I am grateful."

"Thank Stephen," Christine stepped up the last few steps from where she'd stopped in the middle of the staircase. "I know. I have," the young woman replied, smiling warmly suddenly, giving the women next to her the impression that the room was a little brighter, as if she lit it up. Christine rightly assumed it was some sort of sorcery.

"Cloak?" The call came from a room several doors down, and was followed by the cloak swishing away from them to go join Stephen, who met it in the middle of the hall, within sight of them. He easily snapped it in place on his shoulders with a simple motion, walking towards them. "Christine? I did not expect you." Unexpected or not, she hoped that she was not unwelcome, and the slight half-smile she could only just glimpse at the corners of his mouth seemed to indicate otherwise anyway.

"I just wanted to ask a few questions..." Christine glanced at their patient and at Stephen's housemate, who still had her hands full of magical, glovy, golden fire. At a stern look from Stephen, she put it out.

"Of course," Stephen retook Christine's attention by speaking. "Join me in my office?"


	22. Inside Her Head

_This chapter is in a new POV... and yes, that remark about what "strange sorcerer supreme times we live in" is totally a satire of_ our _world!_

 _No copyright infringement is intended._

 _TapTap_

When the new Sorcerer Supreme asked her about it later, she could not clearly say how she had found that artifact - it had been years ago, and it had been all but forgotten - but she was aware of the moment someone found _out_. That was when they started to hunt her.

She remembered the weeks they had hunted and she eluded in a daze of movement as she had been fleeing for her life. She knew enough to understand that she couldn't give them the artifact - not that they would have let her live if she did.

She had been aware of the rumours, even in her isolated existence with little practise of magic - whisperers that the sorcerer supreme had fallen - but she had not believed it. Surely, that woman was eternal. As she fled she had found out not only that this was true, but that there was a replacement, and she had been doing her best to find out where to find this new Socrerer Supreme, knowing she could not risk approaching Kamar-Taj without knowing if there was a master there who could help her. It was _far_ too obvious a move for that.

Finally, she had found out that the new Sorcerer Supreme was a man called Strange, and by all accounts, he seemed to actually _be_ strange, as well.

Not only had the man employed a few astounding techniques even during his yet short career, he apparently insisted to be referred to as "Doctor" Strange, not merely "master". And, a piece of vital information, she had found out that this leader made his home in New York, in the Sanctum there. Armed with this new knowledge she had been making her way towards the reported home of this man. She had _almost_ made it.

She still did not understand quite how it happened, but it did seem like she had - when barely getting away from her attackers, wounded - been brought to the one hospital in the huge city where there was a doctor on staff who not only knew about sorcerers, but had been both wise and resourseful enough to _call Strange_. Elice could have told her that she had done so because she recognised her injuries from what had happened to the Ancient One, but the young fleeing sorcerer did not know this.

She only knew that she had never in her life been so relieved as when Strange appeared in that hospital doorway, accepting the innocent-looking trinket into his care, and her into his protection.

She thought of that moment as she watched the female doctor follow the new, male (a _male_ Sorcerer Supreme, what times we live in!) Sorcerer Supreme into his study, forgetting for a moment about her fellow student and the task they had been practising.

She had never respected anyone as much as she had respected the Sorcerer Supreme who had led them during _so_ many years: and the more moments like these she spent under his roof and his tutelage, the more she respected her choice for her replacement, as well. They should have known that The Ancient One would have never left them in the care of anyone less than remarkable, even if he was differently so than she herself had been.

That was not a bad thing, either: change is scary, but how else would anything ever move? And without movement, what life is there? Without movement, even living things fossilise. With a smile, she responded to Elice's questioning glance with reassurance and turned back to her practising. She was the first to admit how rusty she was: if one does not use ones gifts, after all - they fossilise.


	23. By Outside Eyes

_No copyright infringement is intended._

 _TapTap_

Pangborn had been an interesting neighbour, for sure, at least the owners of the shop next to his metalworking workshop thought so. He had lost all use of both of his legs - total paralysis - in an accident, and he'd disappeared for a while then. The woman who took over the shop's daily upkeep for him seemed to hint at some kind of journey of enlightenment for healing, something very spiritual. Humorous as they'd all found that, they'd been honestly delighted when it had actually turned out to be working and he'd come back, safe and sound: completely healed.

Things had gone back to normal for a while, he'd been the good neighbour he'd always been, and they'd been happy for him. There might have been a new quirk or two to the man, but such an experience must doubtlessly leave you a tad superstitious, so no one payed much notice.

Then came the sudden evening when he'd slipped and fallen, and they'd found him in the morning - due to some lamps being on at a very strange time - and he'd responded by calling back when they'd knocked on his door; as he was unable to get up off of the floor. It seemed he'd had a complete relapse, and if anything, he seemed even worse than before. Though that might just be a mental thing, they realised - on either theirs or his side. Possibly both.

Then, as they'd expected him to go into hospital again - he had, too, for a few days - or embark on another epic journey in either a spiritual or physical sense (they guessed it may be both) he had emerged this morning. He had been walking up to his shop door, greeting them with a smile, safe and sound. Apparently, a second journey of regaining movement was way quicker than the first. Maybe after one such experience, you knew your way around that part of the metaphorical world? One thing was sure, he was a strange and fascinating neighbour, that Langborn, and they wished him all the peace and happiness in the world.


	24. You Know What I Must Ask You

_This chapter will finally provide us with some answers. No copyright infringement is intended._

 _TapTap_

Christine walked into Stephen's study first, heading up to the mantelpiece before turning, watching Stephen enter in turn and close the door carefully behind himself. "I need some answers," she told him blankly, because she did not know any other way to say it. "I thought you might," he said just as simply, calmly, as if he'd been expecting it; maybe even waited for this moment to come.

His next words confirmed it. "I've wondered when you'd start to wonder how things are connected. I cannot tell you everything - there are so many things I do not know myself - but I shall answer as many of your questions as I can. Either way, I will not lie to you." And with one, lightly shaking hand, he gestured to her to sit.

She did, and she decided to start there. "Your hands." It wasn't a question, but evidently he did not need it to be, because he responded readily. She took comfort in that: maybe Stephen needed her to be ready before he spoke, maybe she needed to ask herself to believe all the things he needed to tell her. She could accept that as a reason why to tell her more than he had already done, she needed to ask him. She could believe that as long as he was ready to answer as soon as she asked. And he clearly was.

"You know the medical side of this, of course," she nodded, " I have nerve damage. That's why my hands shake, and there is no way to heal that sort of damage. That much is true. However, instead of merely using the nerves, I can use a magic connection - when needed - to substitute the damaged nerves and thus steady my hands. The first sorcerer I ever met does this to a much larger extent, and permanently - he cannot walk any more, and medicine cannot help him. However, by using magic instead, he can appear and _feel_ healed. It is not truly so, but in every way that matters, it _works_. I use my magic for many other things, and so, I only use this power when it is necessary."

"Like when you need to hold a scalpel again," Christine suggested. "Yes," she noted that Stephen was smiling almost self-deprecatingly, "or when I am in danger of getting burnt by dropping my teacup." Perhaps, in this context, she should not find that funny, but she did. She couldn't help but smile, but Stephen obviously didn't mind. Maybe he had meant to ease the serious atmosphere a bit.

"That woman who died. How old was she?" Christine had heard things hinted at, and she needed them explained. Especially, how dangerous this all really _was_.

"She was Celtic," Stephen answered right away. "No one knew exactly how old, but ancient indeed. She managed," he preempted the question she was about to ask, "this by drawing power from the dark dimension. The dark dimension is considered evil, usually, but there are a lot of sides to somebody. I do not know the whole story - she died before she could fully explain - but I have concluded that she made a mistake, and she held on to be able to help us finally right it, when the time come. She was a remarkable woman."

After a second's pause, he continued, "She was killed by a former apprentice of hers, who had turned to an old enemy from another dimension while seeking power. Before you ask, I was injured, repeatedly, in this struggle also. We won," he cut off what she was about to say, not giving her time to do more than open her mouth, "but there are other enemies out there. There is an ongoing fight, yes, but usually I face human enemies who have heard more than well the rumours. The enemy I fought was very formidable, and I won. You saw the fight in the hospital hallway - faced with me they _ran_. It is occasionally very dangerous, I will not hide it, but it is inevitable. And everlasting. Just because you know there is the occasional struggle now, that does in no way mean it hasn't always been that way. The Ancient One fought them for us for thousands of years."

Stephen had been talking out into the air, but now he looked at her, and gave her the most miniscule of smiles. "This is not a common thing - I will only face one or two more of these wartimes in my lifetime, I'd say. The everyday battles to keep the peace within our magic society is usally easier, and increasinly so as the rumours of what I am capable of spreads. There was a rough patch when the Ancient One fell and word spread that Earth was unprotected, but word is already going around that this was a false report. She had picked someone to take her place."

"And that's you." Christine knew as much, but she still had to have him confirm it.

"And that's me. The Sanctums protect us all, the Sorcerers protect the Sanctums," Stephen confirmed. "I lead the Sorcerers, and I am the Master our former Sorcerer Supreme appointed to protect the New York Sanctum."


	25. Now You Know My Reply

_Look at that, story!_

 _No copyright infringement is intended._

 _TapTap_

Christine felt genuinely speechless. Stephen was sitting quietly, silently, waiting patiently for her to take in all his words, she could only assume. It was all so... surreal. And yet, so _real_. She knew every word he had just said was entirely true, and she also knew why he hadn't volunteered the information earlier. There was simply no way she could have even remotely coped. She barely could _now_.

"So those two girls out there...?" She didn't even know what she was asking, but Stephen seemed no less sure for it. "My apprentices, yes. Your patient is a Sorcerer, albeit a little rusty, Elice is an apprentice. She was taught by the Ancient One at Kamar-Taj, before. She turned her back on her medical training - willingly, in her case - to instead study sorcery, but she has a destinct talent for medicine also. That's why I am keeping her here with me - I can help her become the best of two worlds, I hope."

The modesty of those two last words really proved more than anything to Christine that Stephen had well and truly grown up.

"Also, she seems to just be nice," Christine suggested, trying to bring the conversation back to more understandable matters. Anything, really, which she could relate to. "There is that," Stephen allowed. "And the Cloak likes her." Christine blinked at that sentence unexpectedly added in, but her sorcerer just shrugged.

Noticing her continuing confusion, Stephen smirked. "It tends to – playfully - attack people it finds boring or tedious. Especially if it is bored. Elice gets along well with it - she even named it." Well, Christine decided. This new world was _very_ peculiar... and perhaps not so different from her own. (Even though it _did_ possess modest Stephen. What was this, the bizarro universe?)

It was a bit of a random thought which led her there, but her next question was at least logical in her own mind. "Is there such a thing as a bizarro universe?" If Stephen found this question peculiar, he certainly didn't show it.

"There are many dimensions and universes," he settled on instead, speaking softly as if afraid to scare her, "and many of them are... _quite_ bizarre." His face twisted slightly, as if his thoughts had brought him on quite the journey at that question.

She had to ask.

"What happened to you, in that battle you speak of?" She wanted to reach out, to touch him, but for the first time during this entire conversation he had closed off and did not seem like he would appreciate it. His face looked pinched off slightly and his body langauge was closed. When he spoke in response, his voice was unnaturally dispassionate.

"I came to you after the attack on the New York Sanctum. I had gotten stabbed, as you know; I was unexperienced and was up against several sorcerers, many of them way above my level. They killed the current Master of this Sanctum. The cloak chose me, and it saved me as well as the Sanctum, too."

Christine wanted to comment, to try and comfort in any way she could, but Stephen didn't pause. Instead, he plowed on, no longer looking at her. She could tell that telling her this took effort, a _lot_ of effort for Stephen, but yet he didn't hesitate. Not at all.

"Then... I made a mistake. The Ancient One payed for it. She talked to me in our astral forms as she died - that was why I fell, if you remember, I left my body for a few moments - and I did whatever I could to sway the battle. I... cheated a bit," Christine had to smile at that, "and then I left to another dimension, to... sway the being that had been drawn here by our enemies. I managed." His voice was taut at the last few words, letting Christine know - though he likely didn't know it - that he had finally reached the point of his story which made him so tense.

Instead of pushing him further, she just nodded, and stepped forward. She knew enough for now, and he _was_ ready to talk to her about what his life had changed into. Knowing that, she did not attempt to push him into subjects _he_ was genuinely not ready to talk about. She knew everything she needed to know, and she had enough to digest as it was, without that final piece.

Silently, she simply hugged him, and let him hide for a while in her hair, arms closed tightly around her. Sorcerer or not, Stephen had gone through a lot more than the trouble with his hands this past year. She could only sympathise and silently hope that he had others to rely on: who had it in them to understand. A stray, bizarre thought considered that this might be his cloak. She was more right than she could possibly have been able to grasp.


	26. After A Storm Comes Sunshine

_I still do not own Marvel, and I am sorry I am so late. I have been so busy lately that even monthly updates on three stories are stretching it, but I'll do my best to keep updating as often as I can._

 _I did recieve the feedback stated in a review, that some people find the chapters in this story too short, and while I grieve that this lessens the story for some readers, and I can certainly make sure not to lose half a chapter again (too often, anyway) I can neither change how the story wants to be told, nor change how little time I currently have to write it. I can merely hope that you will forgive the tale (and its author) for this as best you can._

 _TapTap_

Stephen didn't mention sorcery again. Indirectly, he did, and Christine was certain that they would talk about all of those things again, but for the rest of the night, the difficult subjects seemed to be banned.

Her former patient and Stephen's sorcery apprentice were cooking when Christine and Stephen finally left his study, and they spent a few minutes playing with the cloak before they all sat down to eat together.

Christine noticed with a surprising lack of surprise that there were some _very_ strange dishes on the table, though neither of the other two women seemed to favour them. Stephen, on the other hand, ate more of the strange, unidentifiable goo than he did the normal food.

Noticing her puzzled looks, Elice smiled. "Sorcerer food. The more - and the more powerful - magic you perform, the more you need supplements from 'normal people food', so to speak."

The other woman smirked. "Elice has not yet reached the level of magic where it becomes necessary, and I am too rusty to go there, but Master Doctor Strange needs it sorely, so we made sure to make some anyway."

Nodding her understanding, Christine let herself be distracted by another part of what the woman had said. "'Master Doctor Strange'?" She questioned. "Why do you call him that?" "Well, he is a Master of our order: and a very important one at that, being a Master of a Sanctum," the slightly older woman spoke up at once.

"The Ancient One was not titled so, I suppose, but while he is a grand Sorcerer Supreme, he does still have a few steps to go to fill _her_ shoes." "He prefers the title Doctor, and he is a Master, so we just title him as a Doctor as if it were another first name," Elice added in softly, "it seems only fair, doesn't it?" Yes, Christine had to agree. It did.

After dinner, the newly healed woman withdrew to rest, and Elice went upstairs to play dominoes with a very enthusiastic cloak. (Apparently it loved that game, a very amused Stephen had enlightened Christine.)

Stephen was sitting by the fire in the large room downstairs, an open tome in his lap, though Christine could just tell that he would not mind if she spoke to him; and she found herself walking around the many bookcases which lined the walls, running her fingers over a vast collection of books, many in languages unfamiliar to her. She wondered if they were all from this dimension, or world, or whatever.

When she asked him as much, he smiled. "I do not speak all the languages they are in, yet," he replied, making her roll her eyes, "but most of them are in magical tongues from _this_ realm. Not all - a few I've added myself were gifts from one of the residents of Asgard, in fact - but majorly so. Some are even unfamiliar to you simply because they're written in Mandarin Chinese."

He chuckled at her sceptical look directed at him. "Not everything has to be magical, I suppose," she admitted, looking back to the books again. She could feel him smile. "Not everything has to be," he agreed, and she could hear the smile, too.

She did not yet know all that he had been through, but this was enough: there was no space between them, no questions which couldn't be asked, even if not all of them had easily spoken answers, and they were fine. They were walking steadily upon the right path, and they would get there, eventually.

She looked forward, increasingly, to knowing where _there_ was.


	27. And After Sunshine Comes Another Storm

_I am terribly sorry for not updating for a while - work got crazy and life got crazy and hopefully it will be better now. I'll make it up to you. Not by a long chapter, though, because my characters had other ideas._

 _I do not own Marvel's things..._

 _TapTap_

Christine had long ago realised that life had a tendency to run away with you. Profound - and important - as her discussion with Stephen had been, she was on call and had patients, and suddenly she had not spoken to the "Supreme Sorcerer" (apparently, if Elice was to be believed) for over a week.

The one time she did make time to call, Stephen had been wandering in his astral form, and she'd ended up "talking" to his cloak instead. And every time Stephen called her - three of four times, to his credit - she was always in the operating theatre. She was quietly grateful that he of all people could understand that. He clearly did, too, leaving her kind and warm messages, seemingly not in the least annoyed.

As such, Christine's life was busy, and she was preoccupied with important things, and though she didn't forget about her strange sorcerer, she had rather lost the ball on it all. Lucky as she was that Stephen was busy in his own right, with equally as important things (if not more so), what is meant to be has a tendency - as she had also found out before - to _remind_ you.

In this case, it did so by way of four days of her waking up puking every morning, and a positive pregnancy test. Sighing, Christine picked up her cell phone on another nauseous morning, after finally feeling - slightly - better.

She was not done dealing with their last important conversation, by any means, but she was clearly out of time. It was past time they had another one. Life had a way of getting in the way of your plans for life, and there was not much you could do about it, but deal. Years later, Christine would marvel at the fact that the obvious thing - happiness - did not occur to her during those first few mornings, but when she confided as much in Elice, the then Doctor and Master had laughed, and said, "Blame that on the morning sickness!"


	28. Christine Does Not Like Nick

_Because I owed you an update. I clearly don't like Nick much in this chapter... I would like to point out that the prejudices he shows against women are not mine, nor do I think in any way that all men are like him. (Just look at my Strange, for proof of that... or my Tony, or... you get the idea.)_

 _I do not own Doctor Strange. More importantly: The Cloak isn't mine, either. :'(_

 _TapTap_

The best laid plans of mice and men... Nick sighed. He had been trying to woo his fellow doctor for years now, but that weirdo Strange (never was a man more suitably named, seriously!) always seemed to pop up and ruin it _every time_.

Christine was beautiful, clever and a fantastic surgeon, and she would be lucky to get someone like him, someone man enough not to be threatened by her success. (Little did Nick realise that that thought itself meant that he was so _very_ wrong about that.)

He was sure they'd be married with kids (who he expected her to put her career on hold to look after, of course - but only until they were old enough for a nanny, for which he thought himself very generous) by now, if it weren't for the constant sabotage of Strange. Not only did the man seemed decided on outshining him - thereby hampering his well-deserved career - but he kept Nick apart from Christine, too.

At first it was by way of rivalry; Christine choosing Strange (and how weird was that, anyway) over him, then after the couple broke up, Christine was seemingly heartbroken (Nick didn't recognise being fed up with men when he saw it) for a while and didn't respond to any of his advances.

Then, finally, Strange had disappeared, but just as Nick thought he finally had his chance the insufferable man had appeared yet again. So now, he was left waiting it out for the _thousandth_ time. Sigh. Anyway, at least Strange wasn't a surgeon any more. Surely Christine couldn't want to be with a bum, right? Oh, what did he know. Women were such puzzles.

* * *

Little did Christine think that the first person she'd tell about her pregnancy woud be _Nick_ , of all people.

She had just picked herself up after a very early morning of being bent over the toilet bowl -deeply regretting all the times she thought lightly of morning sickness, experienced by other women - and walked into the hospital to start her shift, when he pounced.

She was aware that Nick fancied her, of course, but she had been convinced lately that he had finally got the message and realised that she wasn't even remotely interested in him. His old-fashion tendencies aside, she wanted a man she could discuss things with: who was intelligent enough in his own right to complete her own ideas. Stephen had been that man, briefly, and now that he had finally grown up out of his self-centred faze he might very well be again.

She had hoped so, to be truthful, for months now, and with the baby Strange making her puke her heart out every morning, she only hoped it _more_.

She didn't think of herself as old-fashioned, really, and she saw none of the blacks or whites other people seemed to obsess with (especially in her recent situation): she had already decided to keep her baby, and what Stephen thought about it, nevermind if he wanted to - or she'd let him - be a part of raising this little gift (she thought gift, yes, most of the time. In the mornings, was another question _entirely_ ) had nothing to do with it. _Yet_ , anyway.

Still, she had easily discovered once she'd first thought about it, that she _wanted_ to share this with him. Not because either of them _had_ to, because they had made a baby together, but because they _wanted_ to. Assuming that Stephen _did_ want to. If not, she'd just have her baby and that was that. She was a _Doctor_ , for goodness sake, she'd manage.

But, increasingly, she suspected that Stephen would, in fact, want to. Maybe, when she looked back to the paternal smile she remembered him with from when he was telling her about Elice's studies, he wanted it more than she did. Certainly more than she'd thought either of them wanted it. Maybe all either of them lacked was the creativity of _knowing_ they wanted a family, before he had a house full of pupils - _children_ , if you liked - and she was bent over the toilet bowl. Ridiculous, maybe, but considering that she was expecting the baby of a Sorcerer in robes with a sentient robe for a sidekick (assuming it wasn't actually the other way around, like Christine sometimes suspected) she'd stopped calling anything impossible. Maybe they were just simple, _clueless_ people like that.

Naturally, just as she was smiling at her increasingly peaceful thoughts, Nick was there with his most obvious flirting of all year, obnoxious as rarely ever before. He even brought up _babies_ , for goods sake, ( _why_ , she couldn't say) and had the _cheek_ to tell her to just, "Get over Strange already", because clearly, "it would go nowhere."

She was not sure what it was that did it, but later she suspected it was the sheer, implied assumption that she'd rather replace her _own_ baby with something else from _his_ imagination, that finally made her _snap_.

"Look, _Nick_ ," she sneered coldly, staring into his startled face without caring any more, "Stephen and I have started over - I am already expecting his baby, in fact - so just _back off_ , will you?" She stalked off before he could reply - or she could remember just why telling him that was an _awful_ idea.


	29. This Is Going To End Badly

_This is a chapter which is... going to end in disaster, probably._

 _I do not own Marvel. Their films would be a lot fluffier if I did._

 _TapTap_

Nick was so shocked he almost walked into the wall next to the "staff only" door. Christine and Strange. _Again_. She was totally ruining her career, too, was his next thought. Strange would drag her down with him: and _his_ career was ice cold, so who would support her when she was at home with a baby? She clearly did not think this through. Elice could have told him that there was another, quite obvious, idea to solve this (had it actually been needed) but luckily for Nick, he had never met her.

As he walked down the hallway the wrong way and had to turn around, he tried to get over the disturbing images filling his mind. Strange and Christine. Gah.

Then, even more disturbing, making it necessary for a nurse to rescue him just in time from actually walking into that the same door the other way around, Christine having Strange's _baby_. He was so _jealous_ , all of a sudden - though he wouldn't have admitted it - that he was almost sick on the spot.

Finally, after quite the ridiculous detour, Nick actually reached the staff room door. Part of him was itching to tell everyone who would hear him of this disgrace, the other half was _terrified_ of how silly he himself would look. No no no.

Then, another thought struck him: it _was so_ ridiculous. What if Christine was just mocking him? Setting him up to be the talk, the ridicule of the hospital for falling so easily for her strange prank?

The next moment he was out of time, as he could hardly be seen standing frozen in front of the door to the staff room, and so had to open it.

Then he was standing in the doorway, blinking for a moment before slowly forcing his feet to move, people looking up. Now he had to choose. Was he going to tell them… or not?


	30. I Think We Understand One Another Now

_Last week you were left with quite a cliffhanger (sorry not sorry) so I will get straight back to it: I do not own a thing._

 _TapTap_

Later, Elice - and the cloak - would find great amusement in recalling Master Doctor Strange's facial expression when Christine first told him. She'd asked Stephen for a talk and they'd gone into a corner of the main hall/library, but they'd been slightly too loud for their conversation to stay private.

Christine herself had not been as amused at Stephen's shock and loud exclamation of "What!?" as she brought him the news; she'd come to hope they could make a go of it together - more than she'd consciously realised - and she found it surprisingly painful.

"Does that mean you're... upset about it?" She'd asked, biting her lip in a way most unusual for her. At that, Stephen had blinked, paused and said. "I'm shocked. Yes. And... Christine, I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Will you keep the baby? Could I in any way persuade you to... well, I know we're not really... any more, but, I'd very much like to be part of... I mean..."

Confused in turn, it took Christine several seconds to understand Stephen's concern. Finally - and Stephen had started to look decidedly uneasy at that point - she replied. "I'm keeping my daughter. I mean, I'm not certain it _is_ a girl, but I just _feel_ like..." she shook her head. "That's not the point. What I mean to say, is that I'm keeping our baby, and what you say now has no influence on that. But I am _telling_ you, because I'd _like_ it if we made, well... I'd like to raise her with you. I'd like for us to get together again officially and for us to..."

She made it no further, because Stephen was hugging her tightly all of a sudden, and a second later they were joined by his overexcited cloak, and after that by an eager Doctor-and-Sorcerer-to-be.

* * *

It was later that evening, all of them eating a meal together (well, not the cloak) which Elice had cooked, when Stephen proved to Christine that she'd made the right choice in every way. All along.

They'd been talking peacefully about options and the future, Christine counting down to when images of the baby would be possible, when Stephen suddenly said it. He'd been assuring her he'd take a multitude of precautions to keep her and their child safe with his calling as a sorcerer, but it was the first time he got more every-day practical.

"I believe I'm right when I say you wouldn't want to remain home from surgery for long. My work is very situational, so I will stay home with her (as always reminding her that he was a changed man, Stephen had willingly switched to the pronoun immediately, even when precented with no proof) of course. I hope you'd have no quarrel with me handing her over to Elice if there is a crisis occuring?"

Christine had never been so sure that Stephen was in all ways a superiour partner for her compared to what Nick would've been, not that she'd ever considered the inferior surgeon as a choice. But she'd nodded and thanked him for understanding her so well. Elice had smiled over her goblet as the couple smiled at _only_ each other, and winked at the cloak.

* * *

It was the next morning that Christine woke in Stephen's bed, finding the Sorcerer already flown, to a note on his empty pillow. He apologised for having to leave early, noted he hadn't wanted to wake "them", (which she found supremely sweet) and the simple question included on the sheet of paper was merely, "Would you?" What she would - or would not - was not exactly a mystery, as a plain black box sat between the two rows of handwritten text on the paper.

Just as Christine might have expected, when she lifted the box and opened up the lid, it sported a ring. Like she might not have, though, but was delighted to find even more so for it, there was also a _chain_.

Surgeons cannot _wear_ rings, but she was proud to slip the plain gold chain carrying the pretty, mystical looking golden ring - perfect to size, because of course she _had_ to try it on her finger, for when she _could_ wear it - around her neck. Tucked away as it was, it took a few weeks before anybody noticed the constant new addition to her outfit: be it a sharp dress after work or shrubs alike. What was noted immediately, however, was how Christine beamed, turning up for her shift that day.

 _Is it weird that I think I just fell slightly in love with my own character...?_

 _TapTap_


	31. Nobody Likes Nick

_I do not own Doctor Strange. Thanks to my reviewer_ _Minecraft Guardiansaiyan_ _for putting this excellent plotbunny in my head with their two latest reviews._

 _TapTap_

Nick had not told anybody. He was too embarrassed to, especially when the nurses noted that Christine had started to carry a ring on a chain around her neck. Nobody had wanted to be the first to ask her about it; but speculation was running wild all over the hospital.

Today, Christine and Nick both had shifts ending at mid-day: they would be leaving "together" for the first time in forever. He knew she had not come in a car, and while she could take the underground or a cab, surely getting a ride would be more pleasant? He was certain she was just having him on about Strange - that ring was surely just part of an elaborate prank on her part - and he would finally come through to her today. Yes, he had _plans_.

He noted as he left the locker rooms just behind her that the plan was going well so far. Christine had exited the female locker room only just before he had left his, and was standing just ten meters down the hallway, chatting animatedly to a nurse.

Hanging back, Nick waited for them to say goodbye before he started walking after her. He was still in his scrubs, but Christine was wearing a rather nice, dove-grey dress which flared out at her hips from a fitted bodice which was showing off her thin waist. Yes, right, _pregnant_. Nobody was buying it, lady.

She was walking out the front of the hospital - saying her goodbyes of the day to a few people she'd been on shift with - without looking back, making it easy to follow her. A few other people noticed, but Nick did not notice _them;_ nor heed their frowns or raised eyebrows. He was not aware of the rumours about his puppy-like crush on his clearly not interested colleague, although it would have mortified him if he had been.

Christine elegantly swung on a tight white leather jacket as she went out the main doors and stopped at the edge of the parking lot. Nick grinned for himself, heading towards her. Now was the time. This was almost too easy.

Just as he was a mere two steps away from reaching her, a car driving came up before them. It stopped just ahead of Christine. Though Nick didn't know a thing about cars, even he had to raise an eyebrow. It was clearly a brand-new sports car of some sort, the sort of thing Strange tended to drive, _before_ , and it was absolutely gorgeous even to somebody completely uninterested by cars.

He only had time to frown in confusion, as the door immediately opened. He almost had to pick his jaw off of the floor as Strange of all people excited, coming around to give Christine a warm hug and a sweet little kiss that had Nick _fuming_. How _dare_ he!

Christine was beaming back at Strange, reaching her hand out for something. They still hadn't noticed Nick, or if they had, they certainly payed him no notice. With some surprise, Nick noted that the object which Strange willingly dropped into Christine's palm was a car key. He then preceeded to hold the driver's door open for her, closing it behind her as she got in, before heading around the car to the passenger seat, completely ignoring Nick even though his feet had moved closer on his own account and he now was so close Strange couldn't possibly _not see him_.

As the doors closed, Nick took a step to the side, feeling lightly dizzy and avoiding a huge puddle with only inches. Christine wasn't mocking him at _all_ \- she really _was_ with Strange. Who had a new sports car, even though he was still wearing blue robes and a red _cloak_.

But they were... which _meant_... Nick felt sick. It didn't get any better as the car took off with exuberance, drowning him in muddy water from the puddle he had only narrowly avoided stepping into himself.


	32. The Cloak Always Knows Better

_This chapter is inspired by a few of the latest reviews for this story. Thank you, guys, for being so inspiring!_

 _This is the last chapter involving Nick for a while. The next few ones contains Wong and Elice and a Cloak covered in... you'll see. ;)_

 _I do not own Marvel. Duh._

 _TapTap_

Smirking, Christine drove away from the hospital parking lot, finally cracking up and giggling out loud as she noticed the cloak had stolen either hers or Stephen's cell phone and was taking multiple photos of the soaking wet Nick through the window of the car. Trust the Cloak to know what was a priority.

Chuckling, as he finally reclaimed his cellphone after Nick was out of view, Stephen scrolled through the photos while shaking his head. "Do you still have a digital message board at the hospital? You should post a few of these. Might take him down a few notches..."

Noticing how Stephen's voice had grown a little tense, Christine glanced at him. He looked grim. "Wow. He really bothers you, doesn't he?" When she only got a sigh in reply, Christine continued.

"Speaking of that, care to tell me what all this is about?" She gestured in a wide way meant to include the car, certain that Stephen would understand. "If you're trying to be impressive... well, I'm not sure who you're trying to impress, to be honest. You never cared much for what Nick thought previously, and _I_ agreed to marry you already, if you remember." Stephen's laugh was short and rough, but it _was_ a laugh.

"It is not that. He annoys me - he always did. And the man needs to back off, for one." Christine smirked again. "Are you being possessive? Is that what this is?" She glanced at him again, getting a smile for her trouble.

"Well, would that be so bad? You did, as you just pointed out, agree to marry me after all. Surely, some possessiveness would be alright?" It was not really a question: teasing was more like it, but Christine still felt the need to make one thing crystal clear, while she had the opportunity.

"To be perfectly honest, Stephen, yes it _would_. I cannot speak for the entire female population of the world, here, but quite a few of us - me, certainly - do not mind a reasonable dose of possessiveness, when it has been _invited_. As for us - you and me, I mean - I certainly gave you that invitation when I told you I was pregnant with your baby and would like to raise her together, as a couple. And _then_ accepted your proposal."

Whatever reply Christine might have expected - and she frankly believed he'd be _smug_ \- it wasn't what he finally said, after almost a full minute of silence.

"Thank you... and that is sort of what I mean, too, after a fashion. Much as I find Nick annoying because I am, well..." a sideways glance revealed a self-aware, wry smile, "well, _me_ , I also find doctor West's behaviour simply _outrageous_.

It is one thing to be sure of oneself, as an isolated thing, or a possessive bastard, as I am sure to be sooner or later - you will too, if I know you at all - but he was _not_ _invited_ to take _any_ liberties, and yet he _is_. It is rude, and I felt the need to put him in his place. And I know that is old-fashioned, and I _know_ that you can take care of yourself. And if Elice ever hear of this, she'll tell me off, too, for that very _reason_. But it vexes me, nevertheless. And better he learns his lesson now, than when he actually causes some harm."

Christine listened in silence, increasingly puzzled and amazed by Stephen's insight. Both his self-insight, and his knowledge of _her_. She knew he was right, as far as that was concerned. She so _would_ , given any provocation. But it also struck her, not for the first time (or the last, for certain) just how thoroughly he had _grown up_ , lately. And she had never considered that Nick's behaviour might be anything else than harmless idiocy, but she suddenly realised that if his next victim of his obsessive tendencies was a nurse or an intern, it would not be as harmless as she had assumed any longer.

She decided to post the Cloak's pictures everywhere she could get away with it, and in the end only said two words to Stephen, as she parked the car outside the Sanctum. "Thank you." She had been quiet for a good long while, but he still nodded his head in understanding. She might not need to be defended, but sometimes it felt good that somebody did, just because it was _nice_ to have somebody in your corner.

She was suddenly very grateful that she _did_ have someone; and even more so that her _person_ was Stephen.


	33. I Heart the Cloak

_This is just a tiny chapter, because well, we needed more cloak. We_ always _need more cloak, really._

 _No copyright infringement intended._

 _TapTap_

The cloak flew through the Sanctum at a high altitude and low speed. Gliding through the rafters near the ceiling effortlessly and leisurely, it listened unobtrusively to the sounds coming from below it; and above it at the other levels and floors of the Sanctum.

The hall of replicas was silent - the cloak knew _intimately_ just how _boring_ that place was - and the upper floors were empty at the moment. Lifeless and soundless, except the room almost exactly above where the cloak draped itself over a rafter for a rest. It sounded as if Elice was reading, if the sounds of slowly turned pages, soft breaths and lack of many other sounds were any indication.

The cloak _liked_ Elice. Not just for the obvious reasons - she looked after Stephen well and was great at playing amusing games for sure - but there were other things as well. The cloak appreciated a good heart, and more so, it was proud of her for how openly she wore it on her sleeve as well. She was not afraid to care - even for a stranger, like she had taken Stephen to task about Pangborn - and the vulnerability in being that transparent didn't seem to faze her. The cloak was happy to know her.

It was happy to have Christine with them as well; especially now that she and Stephen had gotten back together in earnest. She was very different in the way that she cared, compared to the young Icelandic woman, but her caring was just as passionate. In the cloak's opinion, its mortal was lucky to have them both. And he probably knew it, too, which made the cloak both delighted _and_ proud. Its chosen one was growing up.

As for Stephen, the cloak congratulated itself daily on its choice of Sorcerer. Much as he could be an arrogant pain, for sure, the newly appointed Sorcerer Supreme had his heart in the right place; and was also far braver than he gave himself credit for. The cloak _did_ give him credit for it. It remembered, after all, their many times in the dark dimension - on _that_ day.

Listening further for Christine and Stephen - they were in the kitchen, laughing as they teamed up to cook it seemed - the cloak congratulated itself on the three brave souls that had become its _people_.

Letting itself flop over and float down from the rafters, the cloak first checked in on the apprentice through her door which was left slightly open. She was indeed lying in her bed, reading a very heavy book with a soft smile.

Silently flying downstairs, the cloak spied on the two lovebirds next. Stephen was a good cook - his rational mind had easily mastered the art of adhering to recipes - and Christine did the bits involving sharp knives. They were cute, the cloak decided, flying back over to the library; deciding they deserved some time on their own.

And the cloak, after all, had all the time in the world.


	34. It was NOT Wong's Fault

_I spellt "autumn" like "author" in this chapter. I might have a somewhat one-track mind..._

 _I do not own Marvel, and so does not claim to own any of their stuff. Thanks for letting us play in your sandbox, guys - we_ deeply _appreciate it._

 _TapTap_

Usually, Wong getting involved in _anything_ didn't cause much mayhem. _Usually_ , it was _Stephen_ getting his hands on a project which caused chaos, not to mention the unparalleled pandemonium which was likely to result from the _cloak_ getting involved.

Besides that, Elice - rather harmless on her own, in most cases - teaming up with the cloak could lead pretty much anywhere, and that was still short of the places of pure, simple _uproar_ which _Stephen_ and his cloak could reach. And actually _did_ on an almost dayly basis, at that. Then consider what havoc all _three_ could cause.

This time, as it was, wasn't actually any different. It was _entirely_ their fault, and _no one elses_. Like Stephen stubbornly (but struggling in vain against laughter) defended them later for Christine, however, "But Wong started it."

Wong had, in fact, only wanted to help. There was nothing wrong with his idea, either, except perhaps how he had failed to recognise just _who_ he had suggested it to. He really _should_ have known better.

It started so innocently, too, like utter disaster often does, on a fine autumn day when Stephen was not causing any panic whatsoever but reading quitely, accompanied by his equally well-behaved cloak.

Wong had been mad to interrupt them, really.

As it was, he had apparently decided to defy the laws of reason _and_ common sense, and had introduced a perfectly sound and helpful idea. Like Stephen, Wong had taken an interest in Elice - she was both bright, kind and full of talent after all - and he had come up with an small plan. Same as the new Sorcerer Supreme, the master librarian was concerned about the young Icelandic leaving Med-School behind, thinking it a waste. They were both right, of course.

So on that fine fall day, Wong had come to the Sanctum to suggest something. He had - wisely enough - not involved Stephen at first, but had gone to find Elice herself, and had come across her in the kitchen, where she was cooking home-made pizzas with surgical precision.

Watching the young woman's determination and steady hands for a moment, Wong thought about different roads and paths; he had not been brought up to be a sorcerer, himself, like so many thought he had. He had indeed been raised in a magical family, but his parents had always encouraged him to find other paths for himself, and other goals. Maybe that was in fact _why_ he had thrown himself headfirst into the family occupation of choice like he had. They had never forbidden or even discouraged him to do so, and they had been _very_ proud. But it had been _his_ choise, and his only.

He didn't know - for natural reasons, the most prominent of which being _time_ \- how the Ancient One had started out, but he _did_ know why their current Sorcerer Supreme had ended up taking their trail, as it were. They all knew _that_.

Stephen's talents may be numerous and impressive, but he had been led where he'd ended up for a _reason_. Wong did not doubt for a moment that he was just where he needed to be. It was different with the younger doctor amongst them; Wong saw waste, when he looked upon her. She was not meant to be here; at least, not _only_ here. Most things are scales of grey, not black and white, after all.

With this in mind, Wong stepped over the doorstep and made himself known, recieving a pleasant smile in greeting as he in his no-nonsence way introduced his idea. There was a medical potion, quite potent, which one brewed with sorcery. Might it not be a way to combine both her talents; a starting point, if you would, to see if that wasn't maybe something she could do in the future? Combine both her talents, that was.

As it was a sound idea and the apprentice was a rather soundly minded person, she agreed, and that's about when Stephen and his cloak got involved.

And that, was how it all _began_. As one might well expect, it all then went downhill from there.


	35. It Wasn't Elice's Fault Either

_So, as it happens, I have recently finished like half of my WIPs, and now finally have only_ two _regular stories to update! (You know, plus the LotR story that was_ literally _the first fic I posted on here and I bet will be the last one I finish, too. That thing is eternal) This is a wonderful thing, of course - because it means more time - and there is only one way to celebrate it; with an extra chapter! Yay! Also because, you know - I left you with a cliffhanger and I am not actually_ that _evil..._

 _I do not own... Marvel? I don't own Marvel._

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Many things could be said about Elice, but she was not one to wait or be idle. Having accepted Wong's suggestion, she curled up that very night with the book he had provided, reading up on the field. Christine spent the night at the Sanctum, so the cloak draped itself over the apprentice as she read, instead of the usual sleeping arrangements. Not that this was so very uncommon, these days.

Gently stroking the snoozing cloak (assuming that cloaks could get sleepy. It sure _seemed_ like it...) Elice read up on magical healing potions and mystical ways of sterilizing surgical blades, researching with a vigor that she might have just learnt from Stephen. Or perhaps, she just didn't want to move and shift the cloak.

Eventually, the Icelandic sorcery apprentice fell asleep, heavy tome slipping before it was caught by the cloak and placed carefully on the floor, on order to make no noise. This task accomplished, it snuggled closer to its backup-sorcerer and waited for new adventures on the morrow. It wasn't dissapointed.

Bright and early, the resident blonde had risen again and was cooking up something, like she tended to do. Only this time, it was not food, and she was not in the kitchen.

She had chosen to use the large open fireplace in the main living area; huge room with space for everything and anything, which suited her at this occasion. Which might have been a poor foresight, but the mess someone _not her_ made out of _her_ potion wasn't actually her fault any more than it was Wong's.

When Stephen and Christine eventually came down the staircase a few hours later in a tumble of blankets and half-messy hair (Christine's. Stephen's was already in perfect ordwr because, well, magic. He could have sorted hers, too, while he wast it. Rude) Elice was in the middle of adding white snake-hairs to a slightly buddbly, bright blue potion.

Naturally, being awake and a very curious sort of person, Stephen then got involved with gusto; asking questions and helpfully going to find ground bitter almonds to add in next. Though while it certainly _was_ the moment he found out, it was _not_ the moment things started going wrong. Because at least at this stage, Stephen was actually _innocent_. As, in fact, was the cloak.

It was a miracle.

It was almost an hour later, when Christine had gotten dressed and fixed her hair back into its usual elegance, when the cloak was pretending to be a curtain and Stephen was making toast for both his favourite ladies, that the now emerald green potion giving off happy, shimmering little multi-coloured puffs of smoke, got meddled with by an entirely different, highly unexpected, source.

And _that_ , was when it all went spectacularly, _hilariously_ , wrong.

 _And there's_ still _a cliff-hanger because it turns out I really_ am _evil after all... Also this plot-line is way too much fun and I'm playing far more than I should be doing. Sorry about that._

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	36. Stephen Is Actually Innocent Too

_So, because I promised my reviewer, I shall now stop torturing you guys and actually give you an answer._

 _I'm so sorry about the tardiness of this chapter - I had a few bad weeks of Real Life (I got_ really _sick, actually, but luckily I could be fixed) and had to catch up on things a bit..._

 _I'm suffering from post-illness-stress induced writer's block, though, so please excuse this tiny chapter. It is just meant to give you all some answers so you don't have to wait until next update. Not that that'll be very long now._

 _Still do not own Marvel, Disney, or anything else very important, at this stage. (Except Elice. Mine!)_

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It was not really that big of an accident, at the end of the day. It sure ended _up_ that way, but the start was such an innocuous, innocent occurrence, that it would have surprised every sorcerer - master and pupil alike - at Kamar-Taj that their sometimes _too_ interested new Sorcerer Supreme and the outright mischivous Cloak Of Levitation had had _anything_ to do with it.

This might have been because they _didn't_.

Elice was peacefully brewing her potion as Christine got ready, while the cloak leisurely observed her - entirely innocent, too, for once - from its position up a wall (where it was still pretending to be a curtain, reason unknown) and Stephen made toast after genuinely helpfully fetching his student more ingredients.

Contrary to what some people might (or _all_ people _would_ ) believe, master and cloak kept on behaving, as Christine snatched her toast with a kiss on her fiance's cheek and went for the door, passing the potion as she did so.

Now, anyone in the _least_ inclined to mercy might argue that Christine certainly didn't _mean_ to add in three of her own hairs to the potion as she passed it, but add them she did, and the results were as epic as they were disruptive, if not actually destructive.

Apparently; mixing bitter almonds, snake hair, green peppers and three hairs of a pregnant woman should not be done. At least when magic is involved, and considering only magical snakes have any hairs in the first place, it always _is_.

Suffice to say that the blue bubbles covered the entire living area at the ground floor of the Sanctum and while they were too heavy to ascend the staircase very far, they _did_ leak out onto the road outside, and only a swift team effort at containing them saved the world of sorcery from general exposure.

Elice, as it turned out, made a very good transportation spell, and no one was really surprised that Stephen was able to perform the "smoke" dissapearing spell his cloak quickly dug out of the shelves, at his first go.

Soon after, Wong arrived to help contain the disaster, but it still took them well into the next day to clean all the books.

Christine _might_ have gotten away with her unexpected talents in mayhem, had she not tried to scold Stephen over what she assumed was _his_ doing.

He lorded it over her in arguments for at _least_ three years, (though it felt more like forty to the people around them) and then on and off for the next eight. It was not actually that bad a thing, as neither her nor Christine could long stay serious at the reference, and so the occurance killed most arguments outright for a very long time afterwards.


End file.
